The Aberration
by NastElilBuggr
Summary: After her fight with Glinda and Fiyero's sacrifice, Elphaba turns to a different page from the Grimmerie and reads from it, thinking she has nothing left to lose. How will this small change affect the life and times of the Wicked Witch as we know them? Winner of Best Angst story in the 2012 Greg Awards!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! I've been reading Wicked fics for a while now but this is the first time I've shared one. It's a multi-chapter story I've been working on for a couple of years now and all of that time I've imagined what people would say about it, so I hope if you like it/find it interesting you'll leave me a message. It's musical-verse with a little book and Wizard of Oz for flavor. Enjoy :)**

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"I love you so much, Fiyero, you just don't understand: Being born with a talent or an inclination for goodness _is the aberration_." –Elphaba, _City of Emeralds_

* * *

Unnatural darkness fell over the Land of Oz. Its usual calm breeze was overcome by billowing winds, and even in the beautiful gardens of Munchkinland, evil hung in the air. Though most of Oz – including the frightened Munchkins that cowered in their houses – believed it to be so, the evil darkness and weather had nothing to do with the terrible Wicked Witch of the West. It couldn't have been; not only did she not hold the power or desire to cause the horrible things that had happened that day such as conjuring cyclones and murdering her sister, she also had been rather preoccupied with something else.

She was in the middle of a furious and rather immature fight with a fluffy, pink blonde.

Dark hazel eyes met blue for only a moment before the two women ran at each other angrily. Glinda grabbed the old, ugly hat from Elphaba's head and started beating her frantically with the fabric, and just as the other witch was about to tear at her extravagant dress, a voice yelled across the courtyard.

"Halt, in the name of the Wizard!"

They were roughly torn apart by a small group of soldiers. It took three to gain control of the taller, stronger woman, while one was enough to lift the petite off her feet and away from the alleged terrorist.

"Stop! Stop, let her go! Let her go, I almost had her!" Glinda yelled shrilly, wildly flailing her arms in the direction of her target, causing Elphaba to laugh amusedly despite the situation. One of the guards slammed the butt of his gun against Elphaba's face to silence her, and she felt her eyebrow split open and pain erupt from the spot. Even if the sky were clear and calm, Elphaba knew at that moment she would never see such spectacular stars like the ones that filled her vision again.

"Sorry it took us so long to get here, Miss," the guard holding Glinda said, finally letting his grip loosen on the Northern Witch and she spun to face him angrily.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I-I can't believe you would sink this low!" Elphaba hissed at her, pulsing with adrenaline despite her sickening dizziness as blood began to drip from her brow. "You used my sister's _death_ as a trap to capture me?"

"No! I never knew this would happen!"

Glinda's desperate reply was drowned out as a shout filled the courtyard. All six heads turned as a man leaped off a rooftop of one of the miniscule homes and landed roughly on scuffed but expensive boots in the middle of them all.

"Let the green girl go!"

Fiyero's cerulean eyes flashed around determinedly as he pointed his gun to each of the uniformed men. He ignored Elphaba as she whispered his name in protest of having endangered himself for her, but for a moment, the prince didn't care. He then, in a rash decision that contradicted any brainlessness he had ever pretended to have during his life, pointed his rifle at the one person with whom he had the upper hand.

"Let her go. Or explain to all Oz how the Wizard's guards watched as Glinda the Good was slain."

"Fiyero, no…" Glinda whispered pleadingly.

"Let her go!" Fiyero ordered, and bent down to pick up the forgotten broomstick. The guards, seeing no other choice, released their struggling captive and he threw the broomstick into her hands. "Elphaba, go, get out of here…"

"No, not without you!"

"Fiyero, please don't do this..."

"Hush! Now, go!"

"Do it," Glinda spat at Elphaba and tossed her the hat in defeat.

Elphaba nearly disregarded them both, but the look that Glinda gave her showed that she wasn't afraid for herself. No matter what harsh words had fallen between them only minutes before, no matter what empty threats Glinda received from the man that had not chosen her, and no matter if they would never meet again in that lifetime, she wanted Elphaba to save herself. So, for Glinda's sake most of all in that moment, Elphaba ran.

She dove forward, nearly stumbling into a field of corn and glanced over her shoulder between the towering stalks in fear. But none of the guards were following her. They were instead staring intently at their captain determinedly and Elphaba couldn't help but stop and watch.

Even from her hiding spot so far away, she was able to see Fiyero look at Glinda for a moment and smile softly, apologetically, before he dropped the point of his gun to the ground. Elphaba's eyes widened in horror.

"Seize him!"

The men jumped at their opportunity and the three that once held Elphaba grabbed their ex-captain and threw him forcefully to the ground.

"No, wait, what are you doing?"

The leader stood and watched for a moment as his men kicked and beat the man that freed the fugitive from their possession. The soldier's face was cold and emotionless as he raised his spear and plunged it into the prince's bruised body, and just as fast as he released the deathly blow he yanked his weapon back and impaled the prisoner once again.

"Stop it! In the name of Goodness, stop!"

Glinda the Good had regained control of herself too late but stood nonetheless in front of the executioner, preventing any more violence from occurring. She spun, knelt at Fiyero's side and lifted his head into her lap, unable to stop the tears from dripping onto the shirt of the man she clutched so desperately.

"Don't you see? He was never going to harm me!" Glinda told them shakily. She stroked his hair and forehead lightly as Fiyero's eyes met hers.

"Glinda, I'm so sorry…" he whispered as he reached up and brushed the tear-soaked, pale face of his once-betrothed with his trembling fingers. A line of crimson blood was left on her cheek, mixing with her glassy tears as she nodded to him.

"I know…"

"Tell us where the witch went!" the guard interrupted, jamming the dull end of his spear unto Fiyero's stomach, to which he grunted in response, stubbornly spitting blood onto the Gale trooper's black boot.

Glinda looked over her shoulder to where the so-called terrorist had run previously and met Elphaba's gaze. In the Gale Force's second of distraction, Glinda's face hardened and she gestured her delicate hand pointedly, ordering Elphaba silently to run and save herself, to not let Fiyero's sacrifice be in vain.

So she forced herself up to her feet – though she couldn't recall she had fallen to her knees in the irrigated mud – and watched Fiyero close his eyes and take his last breath before she turned and fled.

* * *

She didn't know how long she ran, how many miles of crops she trampled as she distanced herself from the only two people she had ever truly loved in her life. She never even realized rain had begun to fall from the sky until she was soaked to the bone and shivering cold.

An abandoned, rotted shed appeared in front of her and Elphaba entered it, collapsing and gasping for air. Her body screamed in pain, but she hardly noticed her fatigue or the broomstick and hat that were still gripped tightly in her shaking hands. Instead, the only thing she felt was her heart throbbing in her chest and echoing painfully in her ears, along with the urge to be sick.

Fiyero was dead. Dead. He had given up everything to save her life, all at the expense of his own. If only she had stopped him in the Emerald Palace from rescuing her, wanting to go with her, damaging his relationship with Glinda, maybe she could have changed things. She could have stopped–

What? Him loving her? Giving up his perfect job and perfect life to be with her? Elphaba realized she wouldn't have been able to. She learned long ago none of that ever made him happy and that he was a terribly stubborn man who did anything to get his way, even if it meant breaking the rules and sacrificing himself to do it. But knowing that did not stop her agony.

He was dead and it was all because of her. Just like her mother's death. Her father's too, from shame, if her sister was right. Oh, Nessarose, now her too, she remembered, and buried her face into her hands with a woeful moan.

She never knew if she cried as she sat there and wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth; she never knew if tears had run down her cheek or if it was just raindrops falling through the sparse and useless boards that made up the roof of the shed. She just knew that she had never before in her life felt so alone, and so…so _evil_; that maybe everyone had been right about her being wicked all along, and that the pain in her chest that felt as though her heart was ripping in half was a worthy punishment for all the terrible things that happened because of her.

What haunted her most was how she stood there and did nothing as Fiyero's life was taken from the world. She was the Wicked Witch of the West, the most powerful and feared being in Oz, yet she stood around and watched as her life fell apart. She could have used her magic, somehow… She could have pulled out the book from the satchel that always hung at her side and saved him...

Elphaba mentally slapped herself. The Grimmerie! How could she have forgotten it? She pulled it out of her bag roughly, dropped in her lap and began to flip through the pages furiously fast. She didn't know what she was looking for– a spell to turn back time? No such spell existed. To gain revenge on those who killed her lover? She knew she didn't have such cruelty in her. So what, then, could she do?

She stopped suddenly and read over the mysterious language, so focused she didn't care about thick, black raindrops that dripped from the rotted wood overhead onto the paper. The title at the top read something that translated loosely into "relinquishment".

Hazel eyes narrowed in confusion. What exactly did it mean by that?

She didn't care what it meant; with Fiyero dead, her sister dead and her only true friendship broken, her heart felt a sudden and overwhelming void with their absence. They were the ones who motivated her to continue her life, and without them she had nothing to push for and nothing to live for. So she began chanting and demanding what she wanted from the spell.

"Sele na eth lene anuka then, sele na eth lene anuka then… Take from me, give to him. Take my skin, the blood from my veins, use what life I have left in my body to restore Fiyero… Give life to him, and give me what I deserve…"

She waited for something, anything, to happen to her while she sat there. Entire minutes went by but there was nothing. Angry and defeated, she slammed the book shut and rubbed her hands against her face in frustration.

"What good is this chanting? I don't even know what I'm reading!" she mumbled aloud.

Elphaba pulled away her green hands and realized that slick, glistening blood shone on one of her palms. "'_Blood from my veins'…"_ she repeated, her anger dissipating into awe, staring at her hand in hope that it meant her spell worked. Elphaba rubbed the tips of her fingers against each other, examining the blood that coated them, before she reached up and touched her eyebrow once again. She winced at the stinging caused by her touch, then cackled bitterly as she remembered the blood was from when she had been struck by the soldier. With everything else on her mind, she hadn't even given a second thought to the small gash…

She put the book back in her satchel and retrieved her broom and hat before getting to her feet. Even if she planned on resting, she would never have been able to get any in that useless structure, so she made the decision to keep traveling, to get as far away from Oz as she possibly could.

Just as she stepped out and towards the edge of the acre of corn however, she felt strange sensations rushing through her body. She leaned against the thick post of a fence and tried to take a deep breath. Was she so desperate for that spell to have worked that she was beginning to imagine things?

The witch stumbled away from the picket and risked stepping forward onto the Yellow Brick Road to gain a sense of direction. She couldn't be too far from Colwen Grounds where her sister had lived in the old family estate; she was sure she had run north, but she was still at the edge of the Corn Basket, where it ended at the Road. Her head spun. That hardly narrowed down her location— she could be anywhere within dozens of miles between Colwen Grounds and where the yellow bricks stopped…

Elphaba took a long, slow breath as she tried to find her bearings, looking for any familiar sights, but everything was becoming blurry. Was the rain getting worse? No, it wasn't… Her world began spinning and she reached out, trying to find anything to steady her, but she couldn't see…everything was so hazy…

An unnatural heat started spreading through her body without any specific origin and she felt her muscles in her limbs flare with hot, burning pains. Her face was flushed with heat and began perspiring profusely along with every other inch of skin. She fell to her knees and dropped the broom and pointed hat onto the soggy brick, gasping and wheezing, all the while trying to comprehend what was happening. She attempted to get back onto her feet so she could run back to the safety of the fields, but her foot slipped on the slick brick and she fell forward.

She couldn't breathe; the heat was too much. She was suffocating. She reached up with trembling hands and undid her heavy cloak, dropping it to the ground. It wasn't enough: her skin was still boiling, so she blindly reached for the fastenings on her dress and tried to wrench it off, leaving her in her thin underclothes – nothing but a tight shirt to bind her chest and ripped leggings – as she fell fully against the ground.

Elphaba screamed madly as a sudden and terrible pain spread across her face. The cut on her eyebrow felt as if it were being torn open, ripping open half of her face. Blood pulsated from it, rushing over her eyelids, but she forced the heavy lids open and saw a light somewhere ahead. She crawled forward to it, not caring the consequence, for whatever could happen to her couldn't be worse than this...

The witch reached forward towards the glow, her hand shaking uncontrollably, but froze in fear upon seeing the skin in front of her. Something was on it. A creamy golden color was spreading, seemingly sticking to the green of her flesh, and she tried to wipe it up with her other hand, only to worsen it. She frantically scraped and rubbed at the foreign color on her skin, frightened of whatever was engulfing her, but her panicky efforts continued to be in vain.

A burst of light erupted above her, and for an instant she forgot everything as she looked up at the stormy sky above. Her mind went blank and all the promises of seeing her life flash before her eyes, however lonely and miserable of a life it was, were broken. A bolt of lightning shot down and struck her chest, leaving her dead in the middle of her homeland with heavy rain hammering against her lifeless corpse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow everyone, thank you so much for the wonderful reviews! They really mean so much! Okay, because I love you so much (and because I left you on the biggest cliffhanger possible, you know, killing off the main character and all) I'm doubling up the size of your chapters, which is sooo going to screw me over eventually because I had planned out my pace for this story. Oh well I'll deal with that when the time comes. Until then, please please please keep leaving your amazing reviews! :D**

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Bright, white light was everywhere. She didn't even have to open her eyes to know that. Oh Oz, she felt terrible, and her limbs were as heavy as steel. Elphaba stirred slightly, trying to move her aching body or to pry open her eyes. They felt sewn shut with sleep, but eventually she was able to force them open and was greeted by the searing, blinding light that made her head want to explode.

Her forehead near her left eye felt as though the flying house had landed on it as well as her sister. She reached her hand up and touched the tender, slightly swollen flesh, not even noticing that she had control of her limbs again.

"No, don't do that, hold still," a soft voice ordered somewhere near.

An icy, cool cloth was rested against her forehead, and she flinched in surprise at the cold against her skin. After a moment she became used to the feeling and noticed that the stinging was beginning to subside.

"I'm glad to see you've finally woken up," the voice said again.

Curiosity got the better of Elphaba and she turned her head in the direction it came from. She blinked through the light, trying to see the shape next to her, and after a moment a woman quite a few years older than herself with graying brown hair came into focus.

Her brow furrowed (an expression she immediately regretted) in confusion and tried to comprehend who this was and where she was. Who in their right mind would take care of the Wicked Witch of the West? Her inbred skepticism began to override her grogginess and she tried shifting away but found she wasn't going far. It required too much energy. She gave up and allowed her body to go limp against the oddly spongy pad she was stretched across.

"Who are you?" Elphaba asked gruffly, blinking at the beam of sunlight that shined in from behind the woman.

"My name is Levin. Do you know who you are?"

What a strange question. How could she not? Everyone in Oz knew who she was.

"My name is Elphaba," she said, hoping it wouldn't scare the woman if it added to the fear and realism of this being the terrorist that flew throughout the land in her midst. She shifted again, propping herself poorly but successfully onto her elbows.

"Well, Miss Elphaba, I found you outside in the rain, so I brought you to my home. You were dead," the woman asked, removing the blood stained cloth from her forehead and dunking into a bowl of water next to her. Elphaba grimaced slightly as she tried to sit up straight.

"Just relax– clearly you're now better than you were," Levin laughed lightly.

If Elphaba were in any other condition, she would have said something sharply sarcastic in return, but instead she asked what was troubling her, "Why would you help me?"

"I don't see why I wouldn't have," the woman said kindly, gently brushing the cloth against the wound on her forehead despite the witch's attempts to move herself away from further contact with this peculiar woman. "But I heard a scream and I ran outside, and you were just laying there. I don't know what happened, but somehow I was able to resuscitate you. You must have something pretty good to live for."

"No," Elphaba said brusquely, looking away. "Not anymore."

She managed to sit up fully, despite the woman's silent objections, and looked around the room. It looked like some quaint cottage with a fire burning in the fireplace and quilts covering all the furniture. There were books on the mantle, but they seemed to be mostly recipe books, how-to's, and a variety of health textbooks, with a couple of romantic fictions thrown in for entertainment, but all together not the sort of material she generally read. Somehow, despite the woman's apparent capability to comprehend medical encyclopedias, Elphaba knew that Levin wouldn't be interested in volumes of philosophical and political nature.

The lady stood up from her place next to Elphaba, walked over the fireplace that had briefly held the patient's attention, and bent down to stir pot of what smelled like soup that was cooking quietly underneath.

"You must be hungry. Please, eat this," Levin said, putting a bowl of broth and vegetables on a tray with a loaf of bread and bringing it to her guest. She wasn't hungry at all, though; in fact, her stomach was churning with emotion. But she heeded the woman's request and reached out for the food.

Just as she was about to take the tray from the lady, she gasped in shock as she noticed for the first time a disturbing physical malady. The color that she had seen begin to spread across her skin after she left the corn fields covered her hands and arms, and she held them out in front of her, examining it with fear. She noticed a smear of green, and tried to scrub off the cream colored skin and expose the rest of the green that had to reside under it, but instead of rubbing off the new color, the emerald wiped off instead and discolored her white skinned fingers on her other hand.

"Wha-…what is this?" Elphaba asked shakily, confused and frightened as she examined her hands in front of her face.

"The discoloration? I have no idea. But I've managed to clean most of it off with a damp cloth. It kept running off from you when I found you; dripping away just as fast as the rain fell. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought you were the Wicked Witch of the West," Levin said, chuckling to herself.

She felt a flurry of fright, but after taking in the nurse's lighthearted expression, Elphaba understood. She put her hands back into her lap and turned to take in the woman still holding the tray next to her. The reason why the woman was helping her rather than running in terror or turning her over to the Wizard's guards was because she didn't recognize her.

After mistaking the look of fear that flashed across Elphaba's face, Levin nervously cleared her throat and added hastily, "Not that it would be possible, of course, with the water. It would have melted the Wicked Witch because her soul is so unclean."

"What? That's absurd."

"Is it? Everyone knows it."

Elphaba shook her head in irritation at the superstitious nature and the ignorance of so many in Oz and looked down at her hands again.

"Do you have a mirror?"

"Yes," Levin said with a hint of hesitancy in her voice as she handed Elphaba a handheld mirror. "But you might be surprised at what you see."

Elphaba took the mirror and peered into her reflection. The woman was right; she was shocked at what she saw. It wasn't, however, because of the large, red and irritated gash that ran down her forehead, clean through the darkness of her eyebrow, and was held together by tight, black thread. She was surprised because the woman who looked back was someone she didn't know.

The more she looked, the more she realized that other than the long lesion that lined her face and the lack of her green skin, nothing else had changed. Her eyes still shone dark, dark jade and bronze under black eyebrows, and her hair was still just as black too. But as her attention turned back to her contrasting pale skin, she felt as she never had seen herself before.

Her heart skipped a beat as she saw the familiar green coloring under the long strands of hair on the side of her face. She slowly pushed her hair away, her fingers brushed the olive color on the inside of her ear and she winced as the green flaked away from under her touch. She looked back at the looking glass she held in her other hand to better see the disturbing effect of her own skin peeling from itself and her heart burned with angst. She threw the mirror away in self-anger at her own failures, and it shattered against the wall. Elphaba ran a hand through her hair that was still matted with dried blood and tangles and tried to make sense of everything.

"That's bad luck you know, breaking a mirror," her momentarily forgotten caretaker said from next to her.

"Bad luck would be an improvement for me," Elphaba responded bitterly.

Levin nodded as though in understanding, put down the tray on the bedside table and said, "I'll leave you alone. Please eat. Once you're done, I'll have a hot bath waiting for you to finish cleaning yourself up."

* * *

Elphaba, the normally confident and over-talkative woman, was unusually silent and fearful as she stepped outside, even more so than when she had been running for the last few years for her life from the entire Gale Force. She looked around anxiously at the faces of the townspeople as she walked slowly along the edge of the Yellow Brick Road that wound its way through the village, knowing at any moment one of them would shriek madly that Oz's most dangerous criminal was standing in their midst.

For only the second time in her life, however, no one even gave her a second glance. Considering the amazing amount of people that scurried through the street, she realized that even with wanted posters hanging everywhere with pictures of her green self on her broomstick with the name "Wicked Witch of the West" printed under it, she was as unrecognizable to all of these Ozians as she was to herself, if not a hundred times more.

Elphaba tried a few times to adjust the clothing that Levin had given her to wear– it was just a simple, white cotton blouse with a black skirt to match her black boots (she thought the dark color choice was coincidental by the woman, not to mention potentially dangerous if it helped someone identify her). She quickly gave up and accepted it would be a while before she would be used to the light, airy garments. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself in attempt to keep warm against the chilly wind that blew; the longer she stood outside, the more she was beginning to miss the thick material of her old, tattered dress.

As she breathed in the cold air, her chest burned as though she had just run a marathon, a sensation she had been experiencing ever since she had awoken. She moved one of her hands up and began gently rubbing the spot that hurt the worst: the ugly, purple blemish on her skin right above her heart; the spot where the lightning had struck her.

Gazing up wearily at the sky, she found that the weather had barely improved since the night before. While she woke up in the morning to sunlight shining in from outside, it seemed that it must have broken through one of the few gaps of the thick cloud cover. At least the weather matched her mood, she reflected.

"I'm glad you're feeling good enough to leave the house," Levin's now familiar voice said from behind her, causing Elphaba to spin around in alarm. "You sure are antsy, aren't you?"

Elphaba glared half-heartedly at the woman and didn't respond to the observation.

They both watched as gleeful, shouting children ran by, leaping through a large crowd of highly talkative people down the way. The ebony-haired woman had seen the group earlier on her walk but assumed it was some shop or entertainment and ignored it, instead pondering her paranoid thoughts. Judging by Levin's intrigued and puzzled expression, though, it seemed as though whatever was happening down the way was unusual. The older woman began walking over to the commotion, calling for her new friend to follow, to which Elphaba obliged reluctantly.

Levin reached to grab an older man who was nearby and asked, "What is the hubbub out here, Tryp?"

"I don't know for sure, I just left the shop to come find out…"

"Look!" a woman cried from the middle of the crowd. "It's Glinda!"

Everyone's heads turned in the direction the woman was pointing, and sure enough a shiny bubble was floating down from the cloudy sky. The small circle that everyone had made around the nearby intersection spread dramatically as the orb landed gracefully in the middle of it all.

"Glinda the Good!" Levin gasped from next to her. "No wonder everyone's in such a fuss. What is she doing here?"

"Glinda?" Elphaba questioned softly, and hastily pushed through the people that were blocking her view with Levin right behind her, hissing her name. It was indeed Glinda, in all of her glittering glory, who stepped out of the orb. And despite her earlier mockery of the sorcery, a rush of fondness came over her at the ridiculous pink bubble that none other than her old roommate would ever conjure.

Something was wrong. The normally merry blonde was frowning slightly as she first looked around to survey the people, and then dropped her vision down to the ground somewhere near her gleaming shoes. Elphaba roughly shoved past a couple of unusually large Munchkin men (they looked down at the comparatively small woman in surprise at her audacity) in order to be able to get a better view, and when she could see better she followed Glinda's gaze. She gasped inaudibly in horror as she realized what everyone was gawking at: standing out boldly against the yellow brick was her own coal-colored cloak (bunched over her shoulder bag, concealing it from view), visibly ruined dress, hat, broomstick, and to her horror, the green that used to be her skin.

Looking back up at Glinda, who was transfixed by the dried, green puddle that stood out remarkably against the bright gold of the road and the diluted dark-red blood, Elphaba thought for a moment that under the windblown blonde curls she saw the unmistakable glaze of pending tears. It only seemed to take a few seconds for the woman to collect herself however, for the muscles of the famous witch's shoulders visibly tensed and her face steeled, removing any traces of betraying emotions.

Glinda's head turned up and looked across the crowd, reading the faces of all the people muttering their own speculations as well as the ones standing silently, curious, awaiting the official. Elphaba didn't know what she should do as Glinda's blue eyes approached where she stood, but realized that she was for once invisible standing amongst a crowd.

Or so she thought.

The Good Witch's eyes stopped their smooth progress suddenly, and Elphaba realized a moment too late that Glinda's mouth opened slightly in uncontrollable surprise, making it very clear that she recognized her. Elphaba turned her head quickly away, allowing her long hair to fall into her face, but the damage was done.

"Glinda! Is it true? Is she really dead?"

"Yeah! How dead is she?"

Everyone around, including the formerly green woman, quieted and stared curiously as they waited for Glinda's response. The Witch of the North recovered quickly, plastered a convincing smile on her face and opened her arms wide to embrace the crowd.

"Fellow Ozians! In order to avoid rumors and speculations, innuendos, outuendos—" Elphaba couldn't help but roll her eyes at the complete Glinda-like remark, despite the seriousness of the situation, "—let me set the record straight. According to my information and the Time Dragon Clock, the melting occurred at the thirteenth hour as a direct result of the pouring of rain. Yes, the Wicked Witch of the West is dead."

Cheers erupted throughout the street, drowning the town in din of joyous yelling of, "No one mourns the wicked! The Wicked Witch is dead!" People laughed with one another and strangers and friends hugged and kissed each other in festivation. As it were, there were only two women who were not affected by the good news, one of them being the news bearer herself.

Glinda simply stood there with a smile attractively curving her lips, but misery reflected in her blue eyes as she listened to the jubilant cries of the townspeople. Eventually, her eyes came back to face where Elphaba was still standing, who was too bewildered to attempt to shield her face again. But it seemed as they stood staring at one another, Glinda wasn't going to call the guards on her. Or at least not do so in public.

Elphaba remembered their conversation that took place only hours ago (Was it really so little time? It felt like years…) with regret: _"Of course you never! You're always too busy telling everyone how _wonderful_ everything is!" "I'm a public figure now, people expect me to-" "Lie?" "-be encouraging!" _

Gratitude towards Glinda's handling of the situation in front of everybody caused a ghost of a smile cross Elphaba's face and she turned to Levin, but her expression quickly fell as she noticed her new friend was not celebrating like the others. She was staring at the green puddle and discarded clothing with fear, and turned to Elphaba, trembling like a leaf.

"Oh my… Y-you…!" she whispered, bringing up a quivering finger in Elphaba's face. "That's where I found you last night! And the green! Oh, oh my!"

In a moment's decision, Elphaba covered the woman's mouth with her hand, grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her backwards through the crowd. She forced Levin through the first door she found, which seemed to be an empty and dark store of some kind, and pushed her into a corner. She glared into the woman's fearful, dilated eyes for a moment before she removed the hand that was roughly clutching Levin's upper arm.

"Don't shout," she instructed firmly, looking out the window of the business and at the crowd that never noticed the strange departure of the two women. Everyone was too focused on the speech Glinda had begun about Good once again overcoming Evil and the official celebrations that would take place all across Oz in honor of this great day…

"Do you hear me?" Elphaba asked, turning back and resuming eye contact with the Munchkinlander in front of her. Levin nodded nervously, and Elphaba cautiously lowered her other hand. Immediately, Levin yelped, "You're the Wicked Witch! I can't believe I helped you, that I saved your life!"

"Shh!"

"Everyone thinks you died! Was all that some trick last night? A way to 'shed your skin' so you can kill people in plain sight without anyone recognizing you? You knew that some poor nurse lived just down the road that would come save you–?"

"I never expected any of this to happen!"

"But…but you're evil! I know this is some trick to keep me quiet–"

"It's not!"

"Yes it is! You're wicked!"

"If I really was wicked, why wouldn't I just kill you to silence you instead of _begging_ you to _shut up_?"

"I don't know!"

The door opened behind Elphaba and the noise from the street outside filled up the small store. The two women both turned to face the entrance to realize that it was the old man, Tryp, who was closing the door behind him and restoring light in the room. Immediately, the shopkeeper noticed them and stepped over cautiously.

"Miss Levin? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, Levin, is everything all right?" Elphaba repeated cautiously and warningly to the frightened lady. She looked up into the taller woman's desperate eyes for a long moment before she slowly nodded.

"Yes, Tryp. Sorry to surprise you like this, I realized that I needed some spices in order to properly celebrate tonight," she lied, her eyes only leaving Elphaba's to look at the shelf next to her in order to pick up a jar. "Here we go! Plain old pepper, I can't make a darned thing without it…"

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**See? I didn't keep her dead long! And if you reviews, I'll promise to _consider _not killing her again. How does that sound?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you everyone again for the nice comments! It truly makes sharing my work - a truly nerve-wracking decision - worthwhile. It's nice to be appreciated, and with that said, please know that I appreciate all of you for the time you take in leaving a review. :)**

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After the close call in the shop, the witch and her captive hurried back to the nurse's house with the jar of spice in hand, pushing through the throngs of people that seemed to be trying to meet the sparkling Good Witch stuck in the middle of them all. Elphaba forced Levin forward, prodding her in the back any time she seemed to slow on the way back to her home, all the while feeling guilty as she purposely evaded her old friend.

As soon as they stepped through the door to the cottage, Elphaba closed it securely behind her before closing all the windows and curtains, much to the dismay of her hostage. Levin stood silently in the middle of her room, watching fearfully the witch's careful movements.

"What are you going to do to me?" Levin finally asked a few minutes after Elphaba had given up her attempts to darken the room and dropped into a chair in frustration.

"I'm not going to do anything to you," the raven-haired woman groaned exasperatedly, burying her head into a hand. "Except have you sit here quiet until I figure out what _I'm_ going to do. I know she recognized me…but I don't know what she'll do now…"

Levin stared unblinkingly at the woman seemingly mumbling utter madness in front of her before she finally sputtered, "Who in Oz are you talking about?"

A harsh rapping sounded at the thick, wooden door and Levin immediately sprang towards it with barely a look over her shoulder. Elphaba got to her feet, facing the door, ready to face the possibility that whoever was there was there for her.

Levin swung open the door quickly and Elphaba heard her give a small gasp of surprise. "Glinda! Glinda the Good!" the nurse squeaked thankfully. "What are you doing here?"

"_That's _who I was talking about," Elphaba muttered dryly as her old roommate in all her puffy, shimmering splendor stepped in with a black bundle in hand and shut the door behind her.

"I'm sorry to intrude, but I was told there was someone here that I was looking for," Glinda said calmly, looking from the older woman to the younger one standing just a few feet behind her. The two old friends faced each other in silence, and Glinda took a moment to examine Elphaba's new appearance over carefully before she continued. "The man at the store down the road said this is where the girl with black hair and _white_ skin most likely was."

"And he was just happy to just tell you whatever you wanted? Never even bothered to question you?" Elphaba asked, her tone colder and braver than she felt.

"You'd be surprised at how nice folks can be when you're not on Oz's Most Wanted List!"

"So you know who she is then?" Levin hissed, pointing venomously at Elphaba while never removing her eyes from the good witch that stood in her home. Glinda dropped the ugly, black bunch in her hands to the floor, straightened out her sparkling dress, and nodded her perfectly groomed head clearly.

"I do," Glinda said, looking back with her stony expression at Elphaba.

"What are you doing here, Glinda?" she asked with a sigh. "What do you want from me?"

"I want to know what happened to you!"

"Nothing. An accident. Another spell gone horribly wrong," Elphaba answered grimly. "I tried to save Fiyero…"

"Fiyero? But Elphie, he's dead," Glinda said, her voice on the verge of cracking.

"Don't you think I know that?" she spat. "I couldn't live with…I _can't_ live with knowing he's dead because of me. So I tried bringing him back, even if my life had to be taken for it. It seemed like a good trade-off, no one would miss the Wicked Witch of the West…"

"You know, for someone so smart, you're as dense as a rock, mossy coloring or no," Glinda said angrily, waving her thin finger irately at Elphaba. "You just don't get it! _I_ thought you were _dead_!"

"Glinda—"

"Shh!" the blonde hissed, wiping one of the tears away that had escaped down her cheek. "You've been the only friend that's ever mattered to me. You were the reason I tried so hard to smile all these years and tell everyone to have hope, because I knew no matter what anyone thought about you you'd still fight for Oz to be a better place! And Fiyero did nothing since you left but look for you because he believed in you too."

"And look where it got him, thanks to me–"

"You and I both know that if given the chance, he would have done it all over again."

The two old friends stared at each other solemnly. It wasn't long before Elphaba tried to apologize, for being the one that Fiyero chose and died for, but could barely form the words. "I'm so…_so_ sorry, Glinda…"

Glinda stepped forward to her, reached up and stroked a petite hand across her friend's cheek, brushing away a salty tear before it rolled into the stitches that still held her tender skin together.

"None of it matters anymore," the Good Witch comforted, but the words hardly helped her; it didn't matter anymore because the reason it mattered was dead. "Now, don't cry, you'll melt yourself again," she tried to joke lightly, but nothing could console Elphaba's sorrow.

"It really didn't work, did it? I couldn't save him, could I? It was just another disaster to add to my _generous_ supply…"

"I don't know, Elphie."

"What do you mean, _you don't know_?"

"The guards had been at the Wizard and Morrible's orders the entire time and took him as soon as he…departed. It took everything I had just to get them from hanging up his corpse in a field for you to see if you flew by. So instead they brought him back to the palace to Morrible and the Wizard."

Elphaba had to sit down. She stumbled over to a chair and brushed her hair away from her eyes with shaky hands, overcome with anger and grief.

"They planned it, Elphie. Just like Morrible purposefully killed your sister. She told me so herself; I would have been able to have her arrested for the murders of an unelected official and a prince, traitorous one or no, if not for the fact that soon all of Oz is going to be celebrating her defeat of you."

"What? That's crazy. All of that happened to me last night because of a spell I cast, not her!"

"She's taking all credit for the storm, whether it was by her doing or not. The rain followed not long after the cyclone she conjured. Now that everyone will believe she's saved them all, I doubt that anyone would allow her to be imprisoned," Glinda explained, walking over to her friend's side and squatting down beside her so she could look her in the eye. "Look, I'll tell them all the truth about you."

"Then they'll all turn against you."

"I don't care!"

"But I do," Elphaba said as Glinda stood back up with a huff of frustration. "'_There's no better way to bring folks together than to give them a really good enemy_,' don't you remember? Even if you said something, you would not only have to convince _everyone_ in Oz to change their opinion about me and the Wizard, but also explain why you had been lying to them for so long. People are happy in their ignorance, but once you explain to them it was because of lies you told them, they'll never forgive you."

"But I won't allow them to get away with this. They've gone too far this time!"

"_Promise_ me you won't try to clear my name."

"No, I–"

"Promise!"

"Alright, I won't," Glinda grumbled irritably. She stormed away and kicked with her a fancy shoe the old, black bundle that she had dropped by the door as though trying to release her frustration on it. As it turned out, the Good Witch didn't just arrive with Elphaba's old cloak, but also her broomstick and her messenger bag with the magical book in it. "But I don't understand–"

"What are they doing here?" Elphaba interrupted, standing up from the chair and walking over to the pile of objects, her mind moving a mile a minute while she examined the condition of her things.

"They're far too magical to be left in the middle of the street, so I hid them in your cloak and took them after telling everyone to scurry on home," Glinda said, watching her old friend's reaction carefully. "Is that a problem? Should I not have?"

"No, it's not a problem," Elphaba answered and bent down to pick up the old broomstick. She turned back to look at her friend with determined eyes. "But I'm going back. I'm going back to the Emerald City."


	4. Chapter 4

**Once again, I would like to enthusiastically thank everyone for their wonderfully nice reviews! Though it is making it really difficult for me to remain consistent with posting chapters because all I want to do after reading the reviews is post the next one so you don't have to wait! lol. Anywho, let's get Elphie ready for another trip to the Emerald City, shall we?**

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"Hold still," Levin ordered as she removed the thread from the witch's sensitive forehead. Despite the strange conversation that she held audience to only a of couple hours before, Levin was still very wary of the witch, which was quiet clear to Elphaba as the woman yanked the stitches unreasonably sharp from her skin. As she sat there, she very much wished Glinda hadn't needed to leave earlier to return to Oz to spread the word of the Wicked Witch's – well, _her –_ death, leaving her to receive the brunt of the nurse's frustrations, which grew due to being left alone with Elphaba once again.

"Ouch! What's the point of removing the stitches if I'm still going to have a big, ugly, bloody gash on my head?" Elphaba muttered, grimacing at the pain.

"You have no further need for the stitches. After I found you, I put an exceptionally special and rare potion on your cut; a potion that was given to me when I was a child by a traveling witch. It's made with a root that only grows in a particular forest in Oz and it helps wounds heal more rapidly," Levin explained, pulling out the last of the thread and handing Elphaba a mirror.

Elphaba was taken aback: the long gash in her face was closed. While not fully mended, the skin no longer required the thread to hold it together. It seemed that in the few hours since her forehead ripped itself open as a result of her roughly conjured spell, it healed as though at least a couple weeks had passed.

"That's amazing," Elphaba commented, before handing back the mirror.

"A little goes a long way. I put a few drops extra in this for you; I have a feeling you're going to need it more than I will. Don't lose it."

"I wish I knew how to thank you," Elphaba muttered, pocketing the small glass vile, and watched as the woman washed her hands in a basin of water near her and picked up a cloth she had set aside.

"Just don't come back ever again," Levin instructed seriously before dabbing the scarring with the cloth, cleaning away the congealed blood that had collected under the thread. Still, the way her brown eyes avoided her hazel ones and the subtle but easily recognizable expression that quickly flashed across her face gave away the real meaning of her harsh order, and Elphaba grimaced weakly.

"You don't need to feel so guilty for saying that, really."

Levin looked up emotionlessly, as if to prove she was unaffected by the events occurring around her, but Elphaba knew better and it wasn't in her nature to not say so.

"I have seen enough of you to know of your good heartedness, and I know it must be hard to act so hateful even if you feel it is deserved," the witch said, and her sudden assertions made the nurse shy. "The fact that you continue to help me, despite the fact that my mere presence terrifies you, is more kindness than I've been given in years. No, I take that back— possibly in my whole life. So, I mean it, thank you. Never the less, I can't help but wonder: how would you treat me if I were still green-skinned?"

Elphaba watched as the woman unwillingly considered her question. Levin dropped her hand from Elphaba's forehead and squirmed slightly, shamefully, as though she realized the same thing the young woman in front of her did: she wouldn't still be sitting here, dabbing a wound she wouldn't have bothered to mend if her patient were mal-colored. It intrigued Elphaba to no end how one simple characteristic could change her fate so drastically while nothing else had changed about her.

Although earlier in the day she had been quiet and fearful, that had passed on quickly and Elphaba could feel her old-self returning in its entire stubborn, sarcastic, and bitter brilliance. It became apparent in her voice as she continued.

"I've had plenty of time to think today," Elphaba said, never taking her eyes from Levin, who was avoiding the stare. "And I don't regret being born green – living through childhood being teased daily, though my young adulthood constantly prejudged and discriminated against, and my adulthood feared – I'm grateful for every minute of it, because I'm not blissfully unaware of the world's evil as so many others are and I'm not blind to what truly makes someone beautiful. And I'll tell you, it isn't their skin, or their clothing, or their titles and fortunes. And Glinda and Fiyero are the kind of people that are truly beautiful in every way, and that's why I'm more than willing to give up everything I have for them. Hell, that's why I'm only a sunset away from leaving here and obliging your request."

"You say that this captain of the Guard, this…this prince, that he loved you?" Levin asked quietly, finally giving in and returning Elphaba's strong gaze.

"Yes, I…I suppose he did. He managed to see past the thick, green shield I had surrounding me, along with all the lies and tales of my _wickedness_. What's more, he had everything anyone could possibly want in the world: He had respect, power, and money, not to mention an engagement to the endlessly admired Glinda the Good, but he gave it up for a life of full of fear and exile for me. All the while, he never even knew that I felt the same way." Elphaba laughed sourly as she added, "Imagine the disaster that would have occurred if I hadn't been so fond of him all these years. Oh, what am I talking about? This all _is _a disaster, as usual…"

"If Lady Glinda is correct, and he was sent to be killed in the first place, wouldn't he have been killed again if he magically returned to life?" Levin asked hesitantly, as if afraid of what words would spill out of the ever-surprising mouth of the witch in response. Elphaba just shrugged unenthusiastically; it wasn't the first time she considered the miserable possibility.

"I fear so, but if it worked at all – which I seriously doubt it did – they might have assumed the magic was done by Glinda, that I still believed him to be dead, or, if they received news that _I _died quickly enough, they might not have done him any more harm. After all, he was the well-known captain of the Gale Force and an Arjiki royal…"

Elphaba knew that she was probably filling herself up with false hopes. When she couldn't stand the woman's now pitying stare any longer (she wished the woman would go back to ignoring her rather than looking at her like that; why did she always have to talk so damn much?), she stood up and grabbed her cloak from the pile near the door, giving herself some kind of distraction from her thoughts. There was a full length mirror against the wall that she hadn't noticed before, so she turned to face it, wrapping the black cape around her shoulders and analyzing her reflection carefully. Even draped in all black, she still didn't look quite the way she used to: bizarre, unsociable, fiendish…

She suddenly became conscious of herself. When before in her life had she been so obsessed with her reflection? Since childhood, she had usually avoided gazing at it if she could, for good reason. There was nothing but green– undesirable, horrid green. She bit her lip. Perhaps she was becoming as shallow as she judged many other people to be. Still, no matter what she thought about herself, she was still standing there in front of the mirror and she was reminded of Glinda and the way she used to behave back at Shiz…

She smiled, in spite of herself. She had asked Glinda as she was walking out of the small home earlier how she had so quickly and effortlessly spotted Elphaba amid the crowd. It took Glinda a couple moments to think over the question, and as she waited Elphaba contemplated possible responses, all of which were very deep and very sentimental. Instead, Glinda angled her head thoughtfully and said, "Your cheekbones. You always had great cheekbones. And your eyebrows. I was always jealous how you never needed to pluck them. And I remembered your good posture, so that was noticeable in a crowd of slumped farmers. But I knew it was you because of your eyes. You've got such pretty eyes." And then she walked out, leaving Elphaba stunned in her wake.

No one else but Glinda could have made such compliments masked as aesthetic frivolity. Her old roommate's obsession with appearances had always irritated her in the past, but in a curious quirk of fate, it ended up being something that Elphaba couldn't help but appreciate at the lowest, loneliest time in her life.

Elphaba stepped away from her position in front of the mirror, not even bothering to give it another glance as she did so. She shuddered involuntarily and wrapped the thick material of her cloak around herself snugly, glad for the fact that she didn't have to look down at her abnormally tinted arms any longer. Whenever she thought about her new appearance, she felt as though she were wearing someone else's skin and that eventually she would wake up from whatever freakish hallucination she was in and be back in her own body once again. She couldn't decide whether she missed the old color or not; after all, she always had thought this was what she wanted, no matter how much she had said that it was never important to her.

Soon the cold air she had trapped under the wool she had securely enveloped herself in had begun to warm. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, listening to her accelerated heartbeat in attempt to calm it down. She had no idea how long she stood there, focused on the rapid pounding in her chest and ears, but it never slowed. She concentrated more, clearing her mind until it felt empty and clear of all thoughts and emotions, and that's when she first sensed it. Two heartbeats. Her heart beat once, then a pause, which was filled with what could only be described as an echo until it beat again.

Elphaba's breath caught in her throat as she fought back a moan of longing. Wherever she was in her mind, Fiyero was there with her with his body pressed up so close to hers that she could feel his pulse against her chest and the heat radiate in waves from him. She inhaled deeply, breathed in the intoxicating fragrance of the Vinkus, and smiled in remembrance at the familiar scent.

She hesitated, afraid that if looked at him he would be gone, but as she opened her eyes, she was greeted by his passionate gaze. His lips parted into a handsome smile, and his slightly calloused fingers brushed some of her hair behind her ear and stroked her face lightly. She shivered at the contact, and his arm wrapped around her, pulling her tense body even closer. She could feel his breath against her skin as he asked her in his soothing timbre, "What is it?"

She sobbed softly and buried her face against the warmth of his neck.

"Are you real?" she whispered, moving her thin fingers across his jaw line until they continued, getting lost in his hair.

"I think so," he laughed softly into her ear, pulling away from her just enough so he could look at her. As though he were testing to see how real she was, he ran his one hand that wasn't holding her down her neck, ever so teasingly, across her shoulder and the length of her arm until he hand her hand clasped in his. "Dance with me, Fae."

"Fiyero…" she began, but the look in his crystalline blue eyes left her weak to do anything else but indulge him. She was completely unable to take her eyes away from his as they turned in place, swaying ever so slightly with only the beating of their hearts to keep rhythm. Their movements were slow and lazy and she felt herself relaxing despite herself.

"I don't really dance," she said, glancing away, but he caught her chin with his hand and turned her gently to look at him again.

"I just want to feel you near me," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as his eyes surveyed her carefully.

She grinned shyly and was embarrassed that he could affect her so, even in this confusing, strange place. He leaned in, brushed his mouth gently against hers, and she could feel his smile against her lips. He pulled away before she could respond and she opened her eyes to gaze at him contentedly until she realized he was slowly drifting away…

She tried to step forward and grab him, but she her feet wouldn't move. She glanced down, only for a moment, trying to find whatever hindrance was prohibiting her movement, and as she looked back up, she saw Fiyero being held upward by two Ozian soldiers. He was completely limp in their arms, and dark, crimson blood covered his face and stained his shirt. The cold chill of death emanated from his body, and they dragged him as blood dripped off of him past Morrible and the Wizard, who stood watching him enter through an elaborate green and gold door and into a contrasting dark and dreary hallway until they looked back at her with matching triumphant grins…

"No…" she whimpered, and tried reaching out for him once more, only to realized that she was soaked as well in his cold blood; it was all over her hands… "_NO!_"

Elphaba jerked awake suddenly, coated in perspiration and breathing as though she had she had run for miles. She was back standing in the middle of Levin's warm cottage, and the heat against her clammy skin only made her colder. She looked down at her hands, which were completely void of the blood but shaking uncontrollably, and she ran her quivering fingers through her sweat-dampened hair, trying to gain some understanding of what just happened.

A small noise somewhere near her made her head snap up, and a few feet away Levin was standing frozen in place staring at her. She was more than an arm's length away and unmoving, but the look she had in her eyes and the way her hand was held halfway out in front of her gave Elphaba the impression that she was torn between instinctual worry and conscious fear.

Not that it really was anything unusual in her life, but currently she was beginning to tire of the woman's continual mistrust. Surely it cost her so much more energy to be this afraid all the time! Nonetheless, her loss of tolerance and her own trepidation at whatever occurred caused her to demand rather icily, "What happened?"

"I-I don't know! You just went stiff, like you were in some sort of trance, I couldn't wake you…"

She wished she hadn't asked. She held a hand up, saving Levin the trouble of continuing to explain, and thought back to whatever vision she had– for it surely wasn't a dream, it was far too vivid. She could still feel where Fiyero touched her before he was stolen, before those fiends so cruelly ripped him away from her embrace…

Morrible and the Wizard. Her heart was hammering against her chest as fury came over her. She wanted them dead. No, she didn't want them dead: She wanted them to be tortured until the point of death, so they would know exactly the kind of suffering she felt in having to mourn the losses of her lover and only sister. And then she wanted them tortured again to symbolize her inner-torment in having to watch his body being dragged away by palace guards behind the massive door and beyond…

The door, with its bold, emerald hue and elaborate gold designs, would be forever etched into her mind. She knew it wasn't just a manifestation of her imagination but rather it was a specific place, somewhere inside of the Emerald Palace, and that was where they took him; of this she was certain. That was where she'd find him. And she was going to get him back, even if she had to carry his cold, heavy corpse in the city's shadows and through the its grand gates to do it. He deserved better than to rot in their evil clutches.

Without another moment's hesitation, she reached down and shoveled her belongings into her bag, threw it over her shoulder, grabbed her broom and made for the door.

"What are you doing?" Levin asked anxiously. "Lady Glinda told you to wait 'til nightfall…"

"I'm not waiting any longer," Elphaba replied darkly, before adding scathingly, "Surely you won't miss me too much?"

Without another word to the woman, she turned and left the cottage, heading in the direction of the dark field of crops ahead of her. She only took a moment to look longingly at the roped off memorial of her death, where her old dress and crushed pointed hat lay sadly among the green. As soon as she was well within the shelter of the tall cornstalks, she leapt onto her broomstick and shot into the sky in the direction of the setting sun and the awaiting Emerald City.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you again to all of you kind, wonderful reviewers! Because of popular demand, I'm considering marketing a line of Dream Fiyeros. I've already got one reserved for myself.**

**I hope you don't mind if I take a moment to clarify something Phases of Obsession (one of my best reviewers who has been leaving me nice notes since the first chapter of my first posted fic! :D) brought up. I'm sure as many of you have guessed, particularly those who followed me from my Glee stories, Idina Menzel is my muse. And though many people say that her eyes are green, I don't totally agree because they're other colors too. And whenever anyone has eyes that can't clearly be identified as one color or another on first glance or even second or third, I classify them as hazel. It's easier that way. So if any of you have been reading along and thinking I'm mistaken, I just wanted to say I'm not; just differing in opinion. :)**

**One last thing. I just wanted to say that I find the next couple of chapters quite enjoyable for the familiar faces that Elphaba meets. I hope you enjoy it too.**

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To Elphaba's misfortune, but not to her surprise considering her record of ill luck, rain began to trickle as quickly as it took for the remainder of the light to disappear from the sky. While the rain itself wasn't harmful to her, the slowly worsening downpour did make her grip on the worn wooden shaft of her broomstick slippery and her fingers and ears stung from the nippy night air. She fought through it, however; she wasn't going to let a simple storm slow her down, so urged the broom ever forward, nearly laying flat on it as she did so.

Time passed by slowly for her, despite her high speed of flight. Due to the intensity of the storm, she couldn't take a direct route lest she risk being struck by lightning (again), so instead she opted for what she hoped would be her safest course. Instead of flying directly west and following the Yellow Brick Road – which would mean passing through the worst of the storm – she flew north by northwest over the whipping cornstalks of Nest Fallows until she reached the small, adjoining mountain range that divided Munchkinland from Gillikin. The Madeleines, she hoped, would deflect the harshness of the storm and gusting winds enough she could travel relatively unharmed. It took hours to travel over the half frozen range of peaks and when she finally reached the foothills at the end of the strip of mountains, she found that she wasn't able to avoid the harsh weather totally. Whether it was following her progress or if the thunderstorm covered most of Oz she never knew, but it managed to meet up with her again as she flew towards the Pine Barren and as a faint glow began to grow in the east.

The Pine Barren was the oldest of Ozian jokes, begun at the time of the original surveyors of the area hundreds of years before. It was not, as the name would suggest, barren of pines, but rather lush and full of towering evergreens. Traditionally maps of Oz left out this fact, so if not for her love of education throughout her life and years of travel (both in childhood across Munchkinland and the Quadling territory and in her adult life in exile), Elphaba might have been surprised at the dozens of square miles of forest south of Gillikin. Elphaba shivered slightly and wrapped her cloak around herself as she sat down on a rain soaked log in the middle of the forest. She wasn't surprised at all; she had looked forward for the last few hours since her most recent rest stop to be able to get off of her broom and perhaps walk. At least the trees would offer some protection against the ghastly wind and downpour that worsened the nearer she got to the Emerald City.

The trees lit up in a quick flash of light and a boom sounded above her before darkness encircled her once more. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, but she didn't even notice it. Her hand was placed above her heart; the stinging flesh of the burn flared up brutally with the static electricity that filled the area from the nearby bolt.

It was time to leave.

She stood and carefully maneuvered so she could hide her broom under the taught strap of her shoulder bag beneath her flowing cloak. It was uncomfortable there but at least it was out of sight, and she stepped back onto yellow bricks for the first time in hours. Her legs and knees were bruised and sore and her hands were blistered from gripping the broomstick so tightly for hours, but she pushed herself forward, ignoring the irritations. The sun had completely risen above the mountains to the east and through the branches of the miles of pine and the rain slowed to a light drizzle before she even considered slowing down.

There was noise up ahead, as though people were talking, and she could smell the distinct aroma of pine burning. Curiosity got the better of her common sense; instead of going around the distraction, she neared it. She followed the curve of the path until she rounded a patch of trees only to find two people she didn't expect, and certainly did not want, to bump into.

One was the little farm girl that she was told briefly about before, wearing her sister's shoes that even managed to gleam with their unnatural beauty even in the gloom of the stormy morning air. She couldn't have been fourteen, Elphaba thought, but the braided pigtails that held her dripping hair up along with her odd blue-and-white checkered dress made her look even younger. She seemed to be searching the nearby foliage for something and she was talking over her shoulder to a man – no, she couldn't believe it – made of tin.

The sun's rays, half-concealed by clouds and the thick trunks of trees, shone against Boq's metallic body, and though he was more tarnished than he was only a few days before, there was no mistaking him. How could her luck truly be so poor?

Elphaba stepped silently behind a tree and watched as the two conversed. The girl's tone was weary, but she seemed relatively clear of mind considering not but days ago she had fallen from the sky and into a strange world.

"For someone who is heartless, you sure mope a lot. Why don't you put yourself to use and help me find some food?"

"I am not only heartless, Dorothy," Boq responded from his seat against a thick tree trunk, rapping his knuckles onto his round chest, the sound of which resembled a drum. "I seem to be missing a stomach as well. Eat without me."

"I will if I can find anything remotely edible. My tummy is simply rumbling. So tell me again, good friend, for I misunderstand– which one of the wicked witches was the one to curse you so?"

"East or West– does it matter anymore? They are dead. Good riddance to them both, the evil tyrants," the Tin Man said, throwing something into the small fire near his feet.

"How sad. Surely someone must be grieving them?"

"Take it from someone who knew them both personally. They were called 'wicked' for a reason. No one would grieve them."

If Elphaba were not so exhausted from her travels, she would have cursed Boq into oblivion, but he was pitiful enough in his current state. She recalled her guilt from Nessa's oppression over the Munchkin and her spell over him, and it seemed to override her anger over his words. He wasn't worth it any longer. Her eyes fell back upon the glittering shoes on the farm girl's feet; even _they_ weren't worth it anymore.

There was a yapping sound by her own shoes. A small, black dog was sniffing her boots, and she nudged the thing off of the worn leather gently, shooing it away. It came back again, and she saw snot from the animal drip onto the toe of her shoe. What an awful little creature! She swept down in a swift movement with her fingers claw-like in front of her and her teeth bared, and the dog jumped away whimpering with its tail between its legs. She chuckled to herself; she still had it.

Unfortunately, the sissy dog managed to get the little girl's attention, and Elphaba retreated further in the shadow of the tree.

"What is it, Toto? Do you see something over there?" The girl went over to the dog and picked him up, looking in Elphaba's direction with narrowed eyes, until they widened dramatically. "Look! Look over here! Berries!"

Elphaba sighed with slight relief. She always preferred to do things under her own terms, not that she necessarily intended to say anything to the girl. The child did kill her sister after all, accidentally or not. She was about to turn and be on her way when she got a better look at the berries the girl was collecting and cursed silently at her kindness.

"You don't want to eat those," the witch said, stepping forward in front of where the girl named Dorothy was rummaging. The child's wide brown eyes looked up her tall form with wonder, and Elphaba continued, "You'll regret it tomorrow. _Trust _me."

"Thank you for the warning! There really are good people here in Oz," the girl said as she hopped to her feet. Elphaba didn't really feel like correcting her; she hadn't exactly considered herself _good_ for years, but whatever pleased the girl. "My name is Dorothy, and this is my friend, the Tin Man."

She looked up at Boq and expected the worst, but he seemed neither to recognize her nor care much. He simply tipped his metal hat using the blade of his ax and smiled coolly before he closed his eyes in leisure. Elphaba resisted the urge to curl her lip drolly; if she didn't know any better, she would have suspected that Fiyero had been by to once again try and teach the Munchkinlander how best to loaf carelessly.

Her heart skipped at the thought of her lover, but she knew he had not have possibly been by. The Tin Man was behaving so unexpectedly because the Boq that she once appreciated no longer existed. The over-achieving, ever-pleasing, over-enthusiastic boy she had known at Shiz was a distant memory, and she was sure it was not simply because of Nessa's botched spell, but was rather a transformation that occurred long ago from being mistreated by the two women romantically associated in his life. Unrequited love was harsh, whether it was given or received; this much Elphaba knew, or thought she knew until she realized her own was returned. She still pitied him for it.

Dorothy's eyes were still glued to her, awaiting an introduction. She pondered the thought. Unquestionably, she could not introduce herself as Elphaba Thropp, though she selfishly wanted to in order to get some sort of reaction from Boq. She considered the fear that she would be able to strike upon him, as some sort of punishment for the cutting remark on her and her sibling only moments ago. Perhaps even after years of attempting such foolish mischief of using her appearance (or in this case, name and reputation) to her advantage in order to spook others, she'd still get a good laugh out of it. But it was not the time for such entertainment.

Just as she was about to bullshit something or other about herself – for what did it matter, they would never see each other again anyway – they both heard a branch snap nearby. Elphaba's eyes shot to her right and scanned the shadows and foliage carefully. When one of the shadows unmistakably moved, she instinctually backed away, pulling the girl by the sleeve with her.

"What was that?" Dorothy whispered nervously, clutching her dog even tighter to her chest.

Elphaba glanced over in Boq's direction, or more specifically the fire near his metal feet. With nothing but wet wood around, the blaze smoked thick and gray.

"Every creature in this forest knows we are here," Elphaba said in a low voice as leaves rustled from the shadowy area, and she turned her attention back to the darkness in front of them.

A deep growl echoed, and a large pair of gleaming, enormous catlike eyes glowed in the Brick Road's clearing. A monstrous beast of a lion stepped out into the light and Elphaba choked briefly on a quick intake of breath at the sight of it. It slowly yet intently approached where they stood and Elphaba was helplessly mesmerized by its deliberate progress until she saw its paws clutch the dirt and suddenly hurdle wildly at them.

Adrenaline and reflex fed her as she turned, clutched Dorothy by the shoulder and forced her small form to the ground. Elphaba barely managed to duck low enough as the enormous mass soared over them, landing with a skid on the neighboring bricks. The Tin Man seemed back on his feet with his ax ready, but his stiff metal body couldn't move fast enough before the lion turned and ran back at the black and blue figures ferociously.

Fool that Elphaba was, when her foot moved forward protectively in front of Dorothy, she received the brunt of the blow and she and the beast fell back heavily upon the earth, barely missing the young girl and the dog as they did so. The lion rolled itself above her and brought a huge paw down upon her, but she curled up with her arms caging her head and her knees jutting into the hard ribcage of the creature on top of her. She screamed as claws ripped into the flesh of her thigh, having barely deflected off of her elbow, crushing her limb between the heavy foot of the beast and the hard ground.

Hoarse cries escaped the witch's throat, despite her best intention to stifle them, as the lion pulled his long nails from her leg and prepared another brutal blow. In a desperate attempt to save herself before the animal could strike again, she shoved her boot of her good leg into its torso and pushed it away. The lion roared as it was propelled off of her to the brick pathway supernaturally far, where it landed with a dull 'thud,' unmoving.

She breathed heavy, covered her torn skirt with the flat of her hand with a pain-filled groan, and sat up before she looked over at the dazed beast. She didn't mean to summon magic against the creature but she was furious enough at that cat that she could hardly regret it.

Boq stood over it menacingly with his ax raised high. It was not dead or unconscious as it lay there, but rather it was trembling uncontrollably with its eyes staring up frantically as the woodsman prepared the killing strike. It was her love of living creatures that created her mess of adulthood, and it seemed as though her heart would never learn from its mistakes: she called out for him to stop and he did; the blade was stilled not but inches above the creature's neck.

It then sobbed in a way she had never heard an animal cry; it moaned and wept pathetically under the sharp edge, frozen, only moments from carnage. That was when she knew it was a Lion.

"I-I-I'm sorry!" the Lion cried. "D-d-don't k-kill me! I'm sorry! P-p-please, don't!"

It was a terrible, stuttering thing. There were huge, wet tears running down its hairy face, and the Lion still shook badly, so she ordered Boq to step back.

"Are you mad?" Boq exclaimed as he moved away, ax held at the ready. "This thing nearly ripped you apart! Let's just kill it and be on our way!"

"Not everyone is as hollow as you," Elphaba spat at him. "Just because he was protecting his home does not necessarily mean he deserves the sharp end of your cleaver, _sir_."

"Maybe she's right, Tin Man," Dorothy agreed weakly from her place a good distance away from the beast. "I-I mean, it may have a family…"

"He has no mother and he has no father," a deep, growling voice said from the trees. Elphaba looked up and felt what little color she had in her face leave as a huge black Bear stepped out into the clearing. The Lion next to her crawled up to the enormous Bear and hid behind it, evidently still shaken. "He has no family at all, unless you count the Animals who call the Barren home."

Movement around them made Elphaba realize there were more Animals, by the sound of it small in size, around to witness the commotion. She ignored them all and instead stared ahead at the Bear and then at the great black and orange Tiger that stepped out from its shadow.

"I see you made him cry; surprisingly not difficult to do. He is quite a coward," the she-Tiger said, looking down at the Lion with what Elphaba could only describe as a smirk.

"Lions and Tigers and Bears…" Boq wheezed, dropping the tip of his ax to the ground in disbelief.

"Oh my."

Even if the girl and Boq were going to lose their cool in the midst of these intimidating creatures, Elphaba forced herself to keep her head. Animals, she reminded herself, were what she devoted her life to, and even though her body shook slightly from pain and adrenaline, she was not scared of them.

"What is it that you want?" she asked the Bear.

He gave her a calculated look before he answered in his deep baritone voice, "Freedom from repression. What is it that you want from this forest?"

"Safe passage to the Emerald City, that is all," Elphaba said. She tried not to grimace at either the brutal pains from her fresh wounds or the throbbing knots in her back from landing on the wooden broom shaft as the Bear stared austerely down at her.

"No home to Animals is safe any longer," was his response. "Not without the Western Witch to protect us from the men of Oz."

"Do you mean the Wicked Witch of the West?" Dorothy piped up curiously. "Why would she protect you?"

"I never questioned her motives. Whatever she did or said to the rest of Oz was not my concern– my kin and friends in this forest were. She attended to their needs and kept the guards from the Emerald City at bay and afraid," the Bear rumbled deeply. "Without her, I fear for the worst. We are the closest assembly of Animals outside of the City, and we would be the first captured or slaughtered if the Wizard so wished, which I do not doubt will come swiftly without the Witch to stop him."

"The Wizard is good and wonderful," Dorothy insisted, her tone full of naivety and innocence found only in those so young. "We are going to ask him for help. We can ask him to help you too!"

"You are only a child; you couldn't remember what we Animals used to be. What little you see before you, Girl, is a creation of the Wizard! He left us to live our lives isolated, feared, and frightened for our lives and families."

"We're going to go see him; we'll talk to him for you. He's going to help us."

"Is that where you're going now? No, I don't believe we can let you do that," the Bear said, stepping in the middle of the Yellow Brick Road, blocking their path to the Emerald City. "You will tell him about us and condemn us all to death merely by your ignorance."

"No, no I won't, I promise I won't–"

"We cannot let you proceed."

Dorothy stepped forward as if to pass the Animal, insisting, "We need to! I have to get home!"

The Bear roared, rearing to its hind legs and standing twice as tall as the farm girl, and she backed away into the arms of the Tin Man. The Tigress began to walk in circles around the three travelers, driving Elphaba backwards nearer to the other two, and when the huge Cat began licking its chops hungrily, the witch decided she had enough.

She pulled her eyes away from the great Bear in front of her long enough to push herself up onto her one good leg, all the while choking back a cry and cursing vehemently and colorfully as she did so. Dorothy's eyes went wide at her variety of words, and she accidentally swore again in self-frustration, shocking the girl more.

"Stop this nonsense! I command you to back away and clear our path, this instant!" Elphaba shouted, putting all of her weight on her right foot so she could stand straight and tall as she glared at both the Tigress and Bear. Her hands that hung ready at her side were dripping with glistening blood but were tense in preparation to pull forth her powers if their lives became in jeopardy. The clearing fell silent until the Bear laughed deeply.

"And what gives you the authority over me in this forest? You can barely stand! What makes you think you could dominate me?"

Elphaba glanced down at the smoldering campfire only feet away from her and back to the Tigress. The Animal anticipated the witch's intentions and both of them dove at it, but Elphaba, despite her condition, made it there first. She grabbed one of the flaming logs with her bare hands, using her magical power to conjure and control fire to protect her skin and to ignite the blaze at the end bright and hot, and held it out at the large orange Cat threateningly. She forced herself onto her uninjured knee and bit her lip at the pain of her other leg from the strenuous movement, but stared angrily at the huge Black Bear blocking their way.

"Because there isn't much staying my hand from burning down your entire forest," she said, trying her best to keep her voice strong and steady (though not entirely succeeding). "If you do not grant us passage, nothing but the thick smoke you'll be breathing will keep you hidden from the Emerald City."

"Who are you?" the large Bear then asked, his black eyes glittering as he stared down at the flaming wood she gripped in her sweating palm.

"Some call me Fae."

It looked as though the Bear not only understood, but suddenly recognized her.

"The Western Witch…?"

"–is dead," she interrupted sternly, and the Bear frowned at her. "Who's left to save you? What witch, what _wizard_, is here to stop me?"

"Please, you have made your point," the Bear said, falling down on all fours and looking around to the Tigress and the couple other Animals that had stepped forward, ready to attack. "I know this Fae," he said to them. "She is strict but I don't believe she really means to harm us. Let me speak to her in private, and while I have her audience I ask you all to give her fellow travelers our hospitality. Do you accept this, Miss Fae?"

"Yes," Elphaba consented, dropping the log that was beginning to burn her skin and pulling her hand against her wet body to soothe the blister. "But I cannot be kept long."

Elphaba turned her head to look at her old acquaintance, Boq, and her new one, Dorothy, as the Tigress walked away into the trees. They did not seem satisfied with these terms at all, for even though they seemed absolutely frightened for their new friend, they were completely scared out of their minds for themselves at the somewhat aggressive band of Animals encircling them. Elphaba rolled her eyes at their drama and accepted the Bear's arm to help her up. She couldn't help but whimper pathetically as she was pulled up to her feet, her limp leg weighing down the ripped flesh of her thigh, but the Bear half-carried her over to a secluded area nearby in order to ease her pain.

"Hello, Rainier," Elphaba said. "It's good to see you again."

"And you, Fae. I hope you will forgive us," Rainier the Bear replied sincerely. "We feared you dead. Even if you weren't rumored dead, I doubt we would have realized it was you."

"It is important that I stay dead," she explained sternly, leaning against a tree for support. "Maybe then I can accomplish something with what's left of my life. Or maybe I'll be able to keep walking along the Yellow Brick Road without being slaughtered by the Gale Force and then continue to leave Oz forever, depending on what I find at the Emerald Palace."

"I do hope you will continue to do good for us," Rainier said, his voice lowering so no keen-eared Animals nearby could hear, "Many here are losing their speech, just like our kind in the cities. Without the Witch of the West to step forward to protect them, Animals throughout Oz need whatever encouragement and support they can get."

"I don't think I could give up on you if I tried," Elphaba said honestly, watching as Boq rattled his metal body and held his ax out in front of him at an old gray Wolf who brought him a loaf of bread. "You never did deserve this contempt."

"That makes two of us," the Bear agreed.

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**Don't forget to order a Dream Fiyero for yourself! Just press that "Review" button and fill in the order form that pops up.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you xFroggyFernyCabbagex, So Anyway and Phases of Obsession for your orders! I have a Dream Fiyero coming your way right now!**

**If you're interested in playing a game, keep a look out for a couple of lines I took from the book. One of my favorite lines that Elphaba deadpans in MaGuire's masterpiece is in this, as a matter of fact. :)**

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Elphaba found, as she tended to her fresh injury, that the only thing that could compete with the discomfort of the bleeding mess of her leg would have been her damn broomstick trapped against her back. It was the primary symbol for her alternate identity and therefore very important that no one discovered it, but she didn't have the heart to give it up after so long toting it around. As soon as she took a look underneath her torn skirt, however, the stiffness from hiding the long, knotted stick behind her back under her cape was quickly forgotten.

The lion's sharp claws mangled the skin and muscle of her leg enough that the sight of it made her sick to her stomach. Elphaba's head turned away, her wet, messy waves falling in her face, blocking the stomach-turning wound from her sight. Taking a deep breath and releasing it as a shuddering sigh, she found herself appreciating Levin even more for her healing ability and her magical potion, not to mention her generosity in giving her some of the brew.

The potion wouldn't do any good if she bled to death, however. She was attempting to stop the blood by pulling up the bottom of her skirt and bunching the material over the lesions. It was somewhat boring waiting for the flow to stop, but she decided to take advantage of the peace and quiet of where she was sitting to rest.

Out of the corner of her eye, however, she saw a bright blue and white figure nearing her. So much for peace and quiet.

Dorothy plopped down on the damp earth at Elphaba's side, watching her silently as the witch moved a new section of the ripped material over her injury. Finally, Elphaba became peeved enough with her new audience that she ceased ignoring the child and looked up at her with disdain.

"Can I help you?"

"I, uh…" Dorothy started, her brown eyes darting down uncomfortably. Elphaba knew she probably shouldn't have sounded so unkind to the young girl, but when she was this girl's age, at least _she_ had enough of a backbone not to be ultra sensitive to something as minor as a tone of voice…

She was ready to shoo the sad thing away, but Elphaba then felt the compassion she never truly received in her life as she watched their breaths rise in a faint mist in front of them. Her arms were cold without the sleeves she had torn off to make bandages, but she still had her thick, wool cloak over herself. Little Dorothy was only wearing her little blue dress and thin socks under the sparkling shoes, so she must have been freezing. Elphaba was the kind of person that she would have given up the cloak from her own back, but not only was her own cape soaked with blood and rain, it was doing more than covering her bare arms– it was also hiding the ever important Grimmerie and her distinctive magical broom.

She did have her old wrap that Glinda found in the attic of the Emerald Palace, however. It was worn out and good for hardly anything anymore but a small pillow when rolled up, but it had to be better than nothing. She reached in and pulled out the thin material from under the large book in her bag and threw it lightly to the girl.

"Put that around you."

"Oh! Thank you," Dorothy said, her voice timid but her eyes glittering with appreciation as she pulled the cloth over her shoulders. "I…I actually came over here to say that: thank you. You saved my life before."

"Oh. Yeah, well, I'm sure you would have done the same for me." She didn't mean it; it just sounded like the right thing to say. Dorothy nodded slightly and looked down at the nasty wound underneath Elphaba's shredded skirt.

"It looks like it hurts. I mean–" Dorothy continued, probably after seeing the cynical expression that not even the normally straight-faced Elphaba was totally able to hide, "–of course it hurts, but just the way it looks. It's so…red. It just seems like all the colors here are so much brighter, bolder. Oz is just so beautiful and extraordinary; I wouldn't even have thought that people would bleed here, or that there would be evil, or that they could die…"

Nessarose, Fiyero… They could bleed, they could die. And in the case of two of Oz's most powerful, the Wizard and his press secretary, there was evil.

While she would have probably preferred to have been left alone to tend to herself and her self-pity, her heart reached out to this small girl, who was still shivering despite the wrap she had enveloped around her.

"I used to be like you."

Dorothy seemed surprised at the older woman's remark. The poor child, she was so uncomfortable in this world; maybe where she came from, there wasn't anything like terrifying or glittering witches or wizards or talking Animals… Maybe all she knew was a world of dull hues.

"I used to believe that Oz was good and beautiful. For years I believed this."

"What changed? Was it because of the Wicked Witch of the West coming about?"

Sweet mother of Ozma! This girl hadn't been there for three days yet she was already well rehearsed and sure about the Wicked Witch of the West. But Elphaba considered her question anyway. What changed? That was easy. She met the Wizard and saw him and the head of her old school for what they really were. And in turn they made her Wicked.

"It was pretty close to the same time, yes," Elphaba replied, holding back from adding how only minutes divided the events. Other than the small details, maybe this was her one opportunity to set the record straight with someone who couldn't so easily immediately pigeonhole her simply by looking at her. What did she have to lose? "But I won't say that she was wicked. She might have scared people, but she never hurt anyone. Intentionally, at least…"

"How does wickedness happen?" Dorothy asked, her eyes wide and curious with naïveté.

That was a good question, Elphaba thought, one that she had considered many times in months past as she tried to sleep on spoiling newspapers that all declared her evilness. Of course, the questions were framed much differently in her mind: _Why did all of this have to happen? Why me? What is so wrong with me? _

"Dorothy, do you think people born that way? Or are they made to be by others?" she asked pensively, and the girl frowned in thought. "You see, my theory is that it doesn't matter how much generosity we have nor how much we care about things, because in the end it makes no difference. What does is what other people think of you. I'm not saying that's right or reasonable, but that's the way the world works. If someone looked at the Witch and decided, _'I don't like her. She's green. She must be evil. I don't like what she's saying either, so she must be lying,'_ and everyone agreed, it wouldn't matter what she was like as a person: if she wanted all her life to be looked at differently at a first glance, or if she remembered being held in her mother's warm arms, or if she longed feel a lover's gentle touch… No, she would be forever viewed as _wicked._ And that's that."

"So you're saying the Wicked Witch, that she had a mother?"

"Of course she did," Elphaba answered, her tone emphasizing the silliness of the question. "And a sister, too, as I'm sure you're well aware of with your entrance here. Nice shoes, by the way," she couldn't help but add, her voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. With more important things to focus on, she had managed to distance her heart from those beautiful slippers, but that didn't stop her from being outraged at it all. What kind of person takes a dead woman's shoes, anyway?

"Oh, they're terribly uncomfortable. We've been walking for nearly two days straight, barely resting for a couple hours here and there, and my feet are killing me! And my socks are so sweaty, it's not to be believed."

"Then take them off."

"I've tried, but they're stuck! There's something the matter with them; they're too tight. Maybe I'm growing."

Elphaba's forehead furrowed as she turned her gaze back down to the beautiful shoes. She doubted the girl simply outgrew the shoes since taking them from her sister. They obviously were able to come off from Nessa, so why wouldn't they now? Her sister didn't place a curse on them posthumously, of course, not that she had the knowledge or power to do so anyway. So who did Dorothy encounter that did?

Glinda did, of course. But that didn't make sense. It was one thing to give the girl the shoes out of spite for Elphaba stealing her boyfriend, but to make it so the girl couldn't rest her aching feet at all? All because Glinda didn't want Elphaba to take them? The two women didn't even discuss the shoes until after Dorothy began making her way to the Emerald City, so after these years of separation did Glinda really know her well enough to anticipate such an uncharacteristic reaction from the so-called terrorist? Surely not.

"They won't come off?"

"Yes!"

"That's odd."

"No more odd than animated apple trees or men made of tin, I suppose." Dorothy opened the top to her basket to reveal her little dog and she scratched its head. "So, you're acquainted with that bear?"

Elphaba attempted a deep, calming breath as she looked down at the simple girl. Here she was, possibly bleeding to death, and little Dorothy was asking about her social relations? This was the same girl that managed to make every front page in a day of arriving in Oz for dropping a _house_ on her one and only sibling. Just because she gave her something so she wouldn't get sick from the cold didn't mean that she wanted to be friends and continue to chit chat. So what was she supposed to say? And why in Oz's name did she always want to express her thoughts so badly?

She looked over the girl, trying to decide what about the child made her want to open up. Maybe it was simply because she was the first person that had actually listened to what she had to say.

"He's a _Bear,_" Elphaba corrected, enunciating the capital pointedly. "And yes, we've met."

"He didn't seem to know you at first..."

"It's been a while."

It was true. Hell, Elphaba hated lying if she didn't have to; in her experience, brutal honesty got so much more accomplished.

"I've spent most of my adulthood fighting to get these Animals back their rights," Elphaba started. "Years ago, Oz experienced a great drought, and soon politicians, powerless to do anything to improve the situation, looked to find someone to blame for it. Since then, Animals have slowly but surely been stripped of their rights as Ozian citizens, of their pride, and even in some cases their ability to speak. It's been a vicious downward cycle for all of them and it has lead to even the best and brightest of Animals bleating and crawling on all fours or cowering in forests, waiting for the day when politicians decide to finish them off, once and for all."

"That's terrible."

"That's politics for you. That's the kind of stuff that's worth living to fight for…to die for."

Elphaba looked away, covering her mouth with a hand as she thought about the sacrifices that had been made. _Oh, Fiyero..._.

"Would you really have burned down this forest if they didn't do as you asked?"

"No," the witch said truthfully. "The wood is too wet anyway; it would have taken forever to catch alight."

Dorothy smiled at that and said, "You were quite convincing."

"Yes, well, I've always broken boundaries and expectations. I see no need to stop now."

Speaking of stopping, she peeked under the dark material she was holding firmly against her thigh, and indeed in the time she spent talking with the young girl the blood flow had slowed. It wasn't perfect but she didn't have the patience to continue to wait, so she pulled out the tiny vile she had tucked into a small pocket at her waist and looked at the healing potion carefully.

It was transparent yet milky looking; thicker than water but thinner than oil. Any other day she would have completely distrusted the liquid and simply toughed out the injury, but other than her comatose state a couple days prior, she hadn't properly slept for the better part of a week. She was far too exhausted to care the consequences, just as she most likely wouldn't have cared what would have happened if the wood _hadn't_ been wet earlier when she was holding the flaming log in her hand…

Her hands were slick with ruby-red blood, so it took a couple tries to pull off the cork from the little bottle. Dorothy, looking on with interest, clearly wanted to ask the woman a million questions but held back and instead watched silently as Elphaba exposed the nasty wound on her leg and dripped the strange liquid over it. She very carefully tipped one, two, three, four drops over the wounds, making sure not to miss and waste any of the precious concoction, and they stared at the mangled flesh for a moment, waiting for a reaction.

She was expecting something soothing, maybe cool, but it was anything but; it took only half a second for the most intense, torturous pain to explode from throughout the abrasions. Her cry got caught in her throat, and the heel of her boot and her long fingers all dug deep into the dirt as she writhed about. She opened her watering eyes enough to see Dorothy's innocent face filled with concern before she blacked out.

When she awoke, she felt no pain. She was not lying in the same position, either, nor was she clothed like she had been before, and _thankfully_ Dorothy was no longer staring at her. But she was not alone.

Elphaba found she was in a clearing in a forest, completely enclosed by trees. She was warm, dry and comfortable, despite the odd location, for she was wrapped in her thick cloak and strong arms around her nude body. She smiled and turned, and sure enough it was Fiyero, his handsome features lit by the glowing moon.

She remembered this place. She and Fiyero found the spot after their first day together after leaving the Emerald City. It was the most memorable and incredible night of her life, and she knew that from then on she wanted to wake up like that every day in his embrace. The next few nights on their adventure were just as wonderful, but of course all good things must end, and in Elphaba's experience, all good things came to cruel, morbid, and life-altering conclusions. But here she was, despite it all, gazing into Fiyero's eyes once again.

"Hello," she whispered.

"Hi," he said just as softly, brushing her hair out of her face with the most gentle of a caress.

"This is a dream."

"If so, I like this dream," he replied contentedly, and she had to agree with him. She watched him as he stroked her hair, captivated with the way the blue of his eyes intensified in the dim light and how his messy hair looked so un-princely yet absolutely gorgeous at once.

"It seems every time my eyes close, you're there, haunting me."

"Haunting you?" he laughed, and her heart leapt giddily upon hearing it. "I'll make sure to haunt you more often then, because I have never felt so good nor have you ever been so breathtaking."

She was ready to retort with something sarcastic about how ridiculous that statement was or about how they had managed to turn into such silly romantics, but she stopped herself. This was nothing but another fanciful vision, an interpretation of the strongest of her heart's desires. She knew that as soon as she would wake, she would be forced to face the strong likelihood of finding his murdered corpse, and that made saying anything at all tremendously difficult.

As soon as he lowered his lips to hers, however, none of that mattered. Even if this was all part of some vivid fantasy, at least here in her mind he was alive and his body was living, breathing, and impassioned at her touch. She responded to him with fervor, deepening the kiss, trying to memorize everything about him: the softness of his skin over his well-built chest and shoulders, the way his hands slid down her body, how his thick golden hair curled around her fingers, and the feel of his mouth against hers, kissing her so passionately…

Suddenly, he was no longer warm under her touch. He collapsed heavily onto her shoulder, his eyes rolling back behind his eyelids, which became as pale and blue as the rest of his body, and his skin was cold as ice. She rolled over swiftly but carefully so she could look down at him and she called out his name but he would not wake.

"No, Fiyero, please…I can't watch you die again…" she pleaded softly, running her hands through his hair and across his cheeks, which became ever more soaked in his blood the longer she looked at him. "I can't do this…"

She kissed his forehead, not caring that she tasted the metallic bitterness of blood on her lips, and closed her eyes as she held him tightly to her. She refused to let go this time.

It took her a few minutes until she stirred awake again. She had returned to her resting spot against the tree in the Pine Barren, and she was once again soaked to the bone from the constant rain and perspiration. Her chin was resting against her chest, so she lifted her head and blinked away the drowsy fog from her vision to see Rainier, Dorothy, Boq, and the Lion all sitting nearby, talking amongst themselves.

She buried her face into her hands, remembering her vision so clear that her eyes prickled with potential tears. Elphaba did not cry, however. She simply wrapped her arms around herself to try and gain some comfort.

As she sat huddled there, drained and weary, she considered resting her eyes. She knew the moment her lids shut she would be dreaming again. Would she dream of Fiyero? Would he be holding her, caressing her, loving her? Or would she be gripping him again, dead in her arms, or watching as his body was forced behind mysterious doors?

She shook herself awake. She shouldn't be concerned with her dreams with him, but rather the reality for them both. She needed to get to the Emerald City – Glinda was waiting for her to arrive – and figure out what ever happened with their prince. After that, she didn't know what she would do, except probably leave Oz for good. She also considered traveling to Kiamo Ko and living out the rest of her days there. Even if she was alone when she did so, it would be what Fiyero would have wanted for her as she would be safe in his family's home.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't even notice that little Toto, Dorothy's dog, came trotting over until he hopped into her arms. Instead of setting the dog aside, for she was too worn down to continue acting so grumpy, she stroked the surprisingly soft fur and took solace in the mutt's persistence at nearness to her. Maybe the ugly thing wasn't so bad after all.

Dorothy followed her dog over and knelt at Elphaba's side. "Are you all right?" she asked uncertainly.

"I've been better."

Her eyes turned over to her friend the Bear, who neared and stood over her.

"The child and her friend have agreed to accompany you the rest of the way to the Emerald City if you find you are ready to travel," Rainier explained, and Elphaba found herself grateful for his straightforwardness. "If not, you are always welcome here, young Miss Fae, until you are rested and well."

"I truly hope you can come with us," Dorothy said, taking Toto out of Elphaba's hands. "Do you think you can walk?"

It took Elphaba a moment to remember that she was injured, and that injury was the reason she fell unconscious and into her dream-state in the first place. She looked down at her leg and pushed aside the material of her skirt to look at her wound: it was still red but it already appeared as if new skin was forming, attempting to pull itself together, however roughly. She pulled over the ripped sleeves she had set aside and tied it around her limb, forcing the cuts closed. She gritted her teeth until she managed to get the knots tied and sat back, breathing heavy. At least it no longer stung and burned like the fresh injury had but rather just throbbed and ached. That sort of pain was easier to deal with, and with that in mind she forced herself to her feet. Well, that was a start.

"Yes, I think so."

"I have convinced the Lion here to escort you all the rest of the way for protection, to make up for the earlier…misunderstanding," Rainier explained, nodding his head at the large Animal of whom he was referring. "Maybe he could get some courage from the experience."

Elphaba looked over to see the Lion gripping his long tail obsessively and overanxiously in his huge paws and heaved a heavy sigh. "You have got to be kidding me," she muttered darkly.

But with that, Elphaba set off unwillingly with the motley crew with the firmly established identity of Fae amongst them. The next couple hours of her life seemed longer and more unbearable than her entire frozen flight over the Madeleines, with the girl adamant that they sing songs to pass the time. Elphaba refused to join in with the merriment, and it took everything she had to discourage them from trying to link arms with her and skip the rest of the way to the Emerald City.

When they didn't sing, Dorothy would whine about how much she missed Kansas and Aunty Em and her uncle What's-His-Name; Boq would begin to rant about how much he hated the Wicked Witches and how miserable of a being he was, not having a heart; and the Lion would tell anyone who would listen how he would be king of the forest one day.

"Release me," mumbled the witch. "Whatever my faults, I don't deserve this."

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**Review? Please? With Fiyero on top? (Ooh, that sounds like a better deal than I had originally meant. ;) )**


	7. Chapter 7

**A short chapter, but a fun one. Please don't forget to review because this writer could definitely use some love. :)**

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When Elphaba first came to the Emerald City so long ago, she took the train with Glinda from Shiz and they entered through the city's northern gates. Every other time since then, she flew high over the walls and swooped down from the sky on her broomstick to pay its inhabitants a visit. This time, however, would be her first time she would ever enter the city from the south.

As she looked up at the great doors of the Southern Gate, she couldn't help but be in awe. Dorothy, from her place at Elphaba's side (for physical support, for the relatively long journey left her injured leg incredibly sore), was completely entranced by it and for good reason: it was simply magnificent. Elphaba had to crane her neck in order to see the top of the entry, and the longer she looked upon the door, the more she saw of all its intricate designs.

It was Dorothy who stepped forward out from under Elphaba's arm and pulled on the doorbell's long chain. The witch frowned at the sound; after admiring the beautiful door, she would have hoped to hear something resembling church bells or a pipe organ, but instead a very unappealing clangor rang out.

A small opening swung back, just above Elphaba's eye level, and a red-faced, mustached man appeared.

"Who rang that bell?"

"We did," Dorothy, Boq, and the Lion all responded together.

"Didn't you read the notice?"

"What notice?"

Elphaba looked around with the rest of them and even turned around to survey behind them along the bright yellow path, but she didn't see anything. The gate wasn't closed, was it? It would take at least half a day to walk to another door, especially in her impaired state (that is, assuming she couldn't sneak away and just fly over the wall).

"It's as plain as the nose on my face!" the man exclaimed, and Elphaba's eyes narrowed at him disapprovingly. Then it should be pretty damn noticeable, she thought.

The man began blubbering, clearly discomforted when he realized there was nothing where he was pointing, and he pulled himself back in. He bobbed back out with a sign, hung it on a nail, and slammed the little window shut with an annoying snap.

"'_BELL OUT OF ORDER— PLEASE KNOCK_,'" Elphaba's three companions read collectively before all turning to each other dubiously.

What in Oz's name…? Was this guy serious? Did he honestly have nothing better to do than to waste their time while they were standing out in the freezing cold and wet? After her whole ridiculous journey, she finally arrived at the grand, glittering, green city to be delayed by this? By the time Dorothy pounded the huge knocker against the wood, Elphaba was positively seething.

"Well, that's more like it!" the pain-in-her-ass said as he came back to his small opening. "Now, state your business."

"We want to see the Wizard!"

"The Wizard? But nobody can see the Great Oz! Nobody's _ever_ seen the Great Oz– even I've never seen him!"

"I've seen him," Elphaba interjected impatiently, adding for good measure, "twice."

While the doorkeeper scowled at her from under his fuzzy hat, Dorothy pleaded, "Please sir! I've got to see the Wizard! The Good Witch of the North sent me!"

"Prove it," the man said, his mustache twitching disbelievingly.

"She's wearing the jeweled slippers she gave her," the Tin Man said excitedly.

And as Elphaba followed Boq's pointing finger, she suddenly understood why Dorothy had her sister's precious and easily recognizable shoes and why Glinda didn't want her to take them off and lose them along the way. Her friend was utterly brilliant.

"Well, bust my buttons! Why didn't you say so earlier? That's a horse of a different color! Come on in!"

With a long groan, the enormous doors slowly swung open, and Elphaba wasted no time in limping through the widening gap, leading the way across the border of the Emerald City. The little doorman, who was obviously of Munchkin decent, had to leap out of the way as the angry woman stormed past, wringing out her wet shirt onto his polished stone floor as she did so.

As soon as she looked around, she found herself completely staggered for the second time in her life at the city's radiance, vastness and variety (despite its one predominant color). Restaurants, tailors, shoe stores, bookstores, hole-in-the-wall coffee shops, beauty spas, grocers, theatres—all within walking distance of the very spot where she stood at the very edge of Oz's great capital. Beyond the main road still, she could see hundreds and hundreds more different shaped structures and businesses lining the roads that spread everywhere like veins in a body, while the buildings grew increasingly tall the farther in they went. It was overwhelming, and on top of that, wild and intense feelings of déjà vu of happier times fell heavily on her heart as fiercely and painfully as a blow to the head.

She must have swayed where she stood, for Dorothy slipped in under her arm again to keep her upright and looked up with a smile. The girl really seemed to have taken to her in the last few hours for reasons that Elphaba couldn't explain, but as the raven-haired witch glanced down at the young farm girl, she found herself smirking back slightly, despite herself.

"They don't have cities like this in Kansas," Dorothy said as she helped Elphaba over to an awaiting carriage. "How lucky you all are to have such a marvelous place."

The witch was tempted to reason that focusing on something's good qualities can leave people blinded to its faults or corruptions (and vice versa, as she well knew). But instead, she helped Dorothy up into the buggy and reached into her messenger bag to the small change purse she kept hidden at the bottom. She dumped everything out onto her white hand, carefully counting to make sure she had enough to pay the driver, before handing him everything she had. Considering it was all she had, it wasn't much, but still plenty more coins than were necessary for a carriage ride into the city and the man looked at her oddly.

"I need you to take us to the Palace quickly," Elphaba quietly explained. "Drop my companions off somewhere nearby there where they can clean themselves up for the Wizard, then bring me to where I can find Glinda Upland."

"Certainly madam," the driver said, and he gave her a hand up into the buggy.

He seemed pleased with the amount of money that Elphaba gave him, for he heeded her request to hurry but still provided Dorothy, Boq and the Lion, who had all obviously never been to the Emerald City before, an informative tourist commentary. During an occasional break in his narration, Elphaba would fill in and tell the group about the histories of many of the old buildings that she had read about or tales involving creatures like the rare color-changing horse that was pulling the coach they were riding in (which Dorothy couldn't take her eyes off, for every few moments it would transform into another beautiful hue).

But after a while Elphaba gave up her stories, because the farther they rode into Oz's grand metropolis, the more of the celebratory nightlife's leftovers were strewn. Streamers of black and green littered the streets and sidewalks, confetti continued to float and flitter between raindrops, and drunken partiers still stumbled about, singing profane songs about the death of the evil Wicked Witch of the West. She tried so hard to be even a little happy for everyone, to share even the slightest bit of their joy, but every time she passed by another crowded pub and heard a different tune and verse of the same festive yet malicious song, a deep, familiar darkness would fill her heart. Every ounce of whatever contentedness she felt in walking into the Ozians' great city dissipated, and she knew she hated them all.

Dorothy, who was sitting across from Elphaba in the small, cushy cab, seemed to notice as the woman fell further and further forward in her seat, clutching herself and staring at the floor. The girl reached her hand out and placed it on the witch's shoulder reassuringly, but as Elphaba looked up at Dorothy's kind and innocent face, she was so miserable and angry she couldn't even spare the ghost of a smile.

The Tin Man, on their lengthy ride, had started to pick up on the many songs defaming the supposed late terrorist and sang them merrily and mercilessly. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to use her powers to weld Boq's jaw shut, even as he began his fifth rendition of "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead!" Instead, she shot him her most vicious glare, which did quiet the Munchkin briefly, only to be replaced with the nervous sound of vibrating metal.

She shifted, moving her broomstick slightly farther to the side so she wasn't sitting on it but still so it was hidden under the long black material she wrapped carefully around herself, and sighed. After walking for hours on her leg, at first it felt great resting it in the cabin of the carriage, but it was so confined she was unable to stretch it the hour or so it took to get to the Palace and the muscles began cramping painfully. Also, her weariness was not only fogging her usually sharp mind but it also made it feel as though she had an onerous heaviness slung across her shoulders, weighing her down. Even the simplest action of breathing became ever more difficult, as though twice as much energy was required to make up for her lack of it.

What hurt the most, though, what _really_ hurt, was that so much had been wasted: tragically beautiful Nessarose, Dr. Dillamond's work and sacrifices, sweet and gentle Fiyero…even herself, her own life. She felt she was the only one who cared at all, the only one who carried around the burden of grief and loneliness. While Glinda also clearly cared, she spent her days leading the celebrations. Elphaba couldn't help but suspect that whatever the Good Witch was feeling in her heart would have gotten lost with all the confusion and pretending that poor Glinda was forced to contend with. Maybe that was for the best.

After a while, the bright green of every building and wall made her queasy. Every time she looked away, however, she was faced with even more of the bold emerald. Was this sickening feeling what people experienced when they used to look upon her? Was that the reason Frex had scowled so whenever she had been near him? Why her sister always turned her eyes away, ashamed?

Eventually she just turned up to look at the gray sky, allowing the light sprinkling of rain to hit her new skin and shower away her despair. This storm had been there from the moment her heart first started breaking, symbolizing the chaos that muddled her mind and her heart. Though she knew she had not conjured this storm, for she did not have that power and never would, it was her companion in such sorrowful times. She was not alone, and like the storm, eventually the skies would clear for her and she would find peace. And that gave her strength.

The carriage jerked to a stop, and as her head snapped up it registered to her that the driver had continued to speak, even though she long ago had stopped listening. Something about arriving at their destination, please climb out of the carriage carefully…

"You're not coming too?" came a voice, pulling the witch fully from her somnolent reverie. Elphaba turned her dark eyes down to the young girl's wide, naive ones and shook her head.

"No, Dorothy. I need to see Glinda immediately."

"Surely you would want to clean up first and look at least half-presentable before you see Her Goodness?" Boq commented up to Elphaba tactlessly from where he stood at Dorothy's side.

She shot him a dirty look. Even if she did look a little frayed around the edges, she did find it incredibly rude to point it out; luckily for him, she had a high tolerance level when it came to comments to her appearance.

"Even the _beastly_ Lion has the courtesy to do so," he added distastefully.

_That_, however,she would not stand for, whether she liked the large Cat or not.

As Boq turned his back on her to enter the Wash and Brush Up Co., the witch's hand twitched and he seemed to trip on air and fall to the floor with a loud, banging crash. Elphaba barely managed to suppress a grin.

"As well as you deserve. Shame on you," Dorothy told him, shaking her finger at the metallic man, much to the older woman's satisfaction.

"Why don't you help the Lion get the rest of my flesh out of his nails, dear Tin Man, while you're trying to remove the dirt from your teeth?" Elphaba called to him unsympathetically, gesturing for the driver to get going. She looked down at Dorothy as the cart began rolling forward and said quickly, "Good luck with the Wizard. I hope _somehow_ he will be able to help you. And remember, no matter what the general populace thinks, not everyone is necessarily evil, nor are they always good."

"I will. Goodbye Fae," she called sadly, and Elphaba turned in her seat and didn't look back.


	8. Chapter 8

**Yay, the response for the last chapter really made me very happy. While I'm grateful for any reviews at all, for a couple of chapters I was getting bummed out 'cause I thought I was losing readers. :( It was a depressing thought. But apparently I was wrong! And glad for it. So thank you very, very much. :) **

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The carriage pulled to a stop, and the driver helped Elphaba out before turning to talk to an Emerald City guard. She took the opportunity to look around.

She recognized where she was. It was the plaza she was led to after her first adventure in the city, right before she was led inward to the Wizard's great hall. This was not where she wanted to be, _at all_. She spun to face the driver.

"I asked you to take me to Glinda Upland. Why did you take me here?" Elphaba asked, her anxiety unintentionally sounding more like annoyance on her voice.

"I beg your pardon, madam, but this carriage can go no further," the driver explained, taking off his top hat courteously. "You are at the southern entrance to the palace. Miss Upland resides in the North Tower, which cannot be reached by vehicle on any side by law. This gentleman tells me that Her Goodness will be in the attendance of the Great Oz himself within the next hour. You would find her if you entered the palace here and went straight forward—"

"And the North Tower?"

"Take that walkway around the palace," he answered, replacing his top hat with a flourish. "It is the tallest tower to the north. You can't miss it. It is imperative you confirm your appointment through her guards, as Lady Glinda allows few people into her home."

She thanked him and set off down the small street that he pointed to. There was no possibility that Glinda would have announced Elphaba's arrival with her guards, even those she trusted enough to protect her home, but it was unnecessary since she still had her magical broom and could simply fly up to Glinda's balcony (which the blonde herself had suggested she do). Honestly, she didn't want to go to the North Tower if Glinda wasn't there, and she most certainly did not want to go directly into the arms of the Wizard and his press secretary if she could help it, green or not. If Glinda was busy, then she was going to try and find that door that led to Fiyero by herself.

Taking off through dark and dank streets of unfamiliar neighborhoods was not Elphaba's idea of a good time. A few years ago, when she was still green but relatively unknown to the world, it would have been a different story; she would have thought of it as a nice stroll. Everyone would have been too freaked out to approach the green girl. Furthermore, after she defied the Wizard and the confines of gravity, people were too frightened of the terrifying Wicked Witch to bother her.

But this time, she had no strange skin to protect her or any title or reputation to use to her advantage. From what she understood, she looked like any other woman. Well, except perhaps more physically scarred, she thought, brushing her fingers over the long, bruised mark on her forehead broodingly as she tucked loose hair behind her ear. But she doubted that made any difference. She pulled up her large hood over her head anyway, feeling more secure and unknown in its shadows.

When she was younger, she seemed to be the only person who enjoyed Oz's relatively rare rainstorms. Of course, people liked the _idea_ of rain – it was a necessity after all, especially considering the land's Great Drought – but none flourished in rain quite like Elphaba Thropp did. It had its advantages, she had always reasoned, especially if one was mal-colored: folks generally became more self-focused. They stared down at their feet when they walked, cautious of puddles and mud, and for the most part paid no heed to others walking nearby, especially those wearing cloaks or jackets over their heads. So, though the big, dark, normally suspicious hood was pulled low over her face, not a single passerby cared. She was safe.

As the path curved around, she saw what the man meant about not being able to miss Glinda's residence. From where she stood, she was able to see a balcony, and though she had to squint to see it, the slight glow of pink from the very top of the loftiest tower at least a half mile away. It was good to at least know where it was.

It didn't take her much longer after that to find a servant's entrance into the palace and break in. That was the easy part. Finding a door that she saw in a vision while she was hundreds of miles away that could have simply been imagined, and do so without being caught, was the tricky part. She had the feeling that no matter what she looked like, the palace guards still might not be thrilled that she was sneaking around the palace.

Elphaba really had no idea where she was going; she was following her instincts through the dark and dreary stone corridors. Something in her heart seemed to be navigating her through the vast castle, and crazy as that sounded, it was better than nothing. She limped to what appeared to be the end of the servant passageways. Elphaba looked around; she had no idea where she was or where to go next. Damn her and her impulsive, reckless and thoughtless determination! What was she thinking, breaking into such a fortress, completely aimless save for this enigmatic door and _dyspepsia_ leading her through the dragon's lair? Oh, the smart comments Glinda would have for her if she knew…

"Who're you?" a gruff male voice came from behind her, and Elphaba spun in place to see a short, heavyset palace worker approach from the servant's hallway she had just passed through. The older man never took his gray eyes off from the dark-cloaked Elphaba as she stood there at the intersection to the fancy hall, even as he passed by towards a nearby door with freshly laundered linens in his hands. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you. Who're you? What are you doin' here?"

This was _not_ what she wanted to deal with. What could she say anyway? She was wandering aimlessly. She considered just being forthright and asking for directions, but then again she had no idea where she was going. And this man didn't exactly seem like the friendliest person in the palace.

She resisted the temptation to simply act dumb, lost, and foreign. Though it had been a very long time since she had spoken the language, she was fluent in Qua'ati due to her many childhood years spent in Quadling country, but she could see no positive outcome in playing dense. The man would probably just bring her back where she started.

"Hello! I'm talkin' to you," the raspy-voiced servant said again. "I'm gonna call some guards down here."

"I would advise against that," Elphaba spoke up, and he frowned, suddenly understanding the danger he could be in.

She would have preferred to attempt civility with the man, use reason and charm and all of that (not that she was very practiced with what little charm she possessed, she had always left that up to Nessarose or Glinda in her past), but unfortunately footsteps could be heard down the hallway. One person she could deal with, especially a generally uncaring servant who seemed to simply be concerned for his own safety, but multiple people, especially guards, made things ever more challenging. What would she say when she was caught down a servants' hallway with an old broomstick? She worked there? Something told her that with the blood and muddy filth she had covering her from head to toe they wouldn't believe she was a maid.

"Good, sounds like some Gale Forcers are headin' this way," the man said with a crooked, insensitive smile. "I'm sure they'd love to talk to you and escort you out."

She felt, to her shame, the thin thread of control and rationale snap and she lost herself for a moment. The idea of being stopped after everything she had gone through to get here without having made a single ounce of progress or acquired anything all was too much to bear. The man's eyes widened and his mouth opened in shock as Elphaba lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar and threw him into the room he stood near. The servant fell to the floor with the linens scattered around him, and Elphaba shut the door with a soft snap behind her, only seconds before the footsteps rounded a corner into the same hallway they were just standing in.

"You breathe and I promise you, you'll regret it," the witch whispered viciously. It was an empty threat but a believable one all the same, and the man nodded, quivering in fear.

She cracked the door open slightly, barely enough to be noticed but still so she could see. There were indeed Gale Force officers and, judging by the symbols on their collars and the lack of the usual ridiculous attire, reasonably high ranking. The two men seemed to be chatting between each other quietly and she couldn't hear what they were saying, but she didn't care. But she could hear other voices clearly, however, and she closed her eyes momentarily and held her breath when she realized she recognized them.

A few paces behind the guards, to Elphaba's dismay, strode Madame Morrible and the Wizard of Oz.

Morrible was dressed in one of her classic bizarre dresses– there were layers of fabric and feathers in gold and orange that when she walked flowed and flittered around her, resembling a goldfish gliding through water. It would have been elegant and attractive if not for the fact that many of these feathers stuck out in weird directions like a frightened chicken and, well, if she didn't look so completely fish-like.

The Wizard looked just as he always had: aged, yet still youthful in his own way. When she first met the man, after he stepped out from behind the frightening great head, she found that quality to be endearing and made him forgivable for his falseness. So much had changed so quickly that day.

"I have to say, that meal was rather disappointing."

"New cook, I'm told."

"Yes, I'd believe that. Have you seen the time?" Morrible's sharp voice asked. "It looks as though you'll be late for that meeting."

"Indeed, but it is only Miss Upland…" the Wizard responded indifferently.

"Oh, what does that girl want _now_?"

"News of her former fiancé, I believe."

Elphaba tried not to react to the blasé comment, for they were so close they would have heard her stir. They passed out of sight but she pressed her cloak-covered ear to the crack in the door in order to keep listening.

"So she doesn't know what's become of him?" Morrible asked with a hint of intrigue. "Are you going to tell her?"

"That we threw him to rot in the dungeon? Something tells me the lass won't be happy with that…"

Their voices trailed off and soon they were out of earshot completely. She turned and leaned against the doorframe, her forehead leaning against the cool wood. The conversation she happened to witness firsthand kept echoing in her mind: '_Threw him to rot in the dungeon…'_ It made her want to vomit.

And to think– they called _her _wicked.

On the bright side, she knew where she needed to go…kind of. And finally, some good luck; she realized how fortunate she was and how unlikely the odds to have those two villains walk past her speaking of the one thing she was looking for.

With a quick snap of her head, she stared fiercely at the servant such that even though he couldn't see her face he still shivered from her harsh look.

"Take me to the dungeons."


	9. Chapter 9

**At this time, I'd like to give out the Funniest Reviewer Award to Anna Marie Raven for the Chapter 8 review that made me laugh out loud as well as for the hilarious theme regarding Elphaba's inability to stick to a plan she's consistently carried through most of her reviews. Since handing over an actual statue over a website is quite challenging, I thought you should know it looks like a golden laugh. **

**I know that there are a few other people quietly reading this story and I hope that sometime soon you'll drop me a line. I'd love to thank you personally for reading along. :)**

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The servant had done as she asked and had led her down stairwell after stairwell until there were no more stairs left, following the path of least resistance as she had commanded. All the while, he whimpered about having a wife and children and she shouldn't kill him because he was all that was left to take care of his ailing mother, etc, all of which she found irritating because she had no intention of harming him at all. It was worth this aggravation, however, and pain from the long walks down the half-dozen staircases because he took her right where she wanted to go.

Before she knew it, she was standing in front of the door that haunted her dreams. It was exactly she had seen in her vision: bold, solid green, with gold wire creating strange yet beautiful patterns all over it. If she weren't completely confident in her feeling that this was where she needed to be, she wouldn't have believed that behind that beautiful door lay a prison (Perhaps it was designed to dismay those – like her – that wanted to break in. It certainly had a discouraging effect.). It had an enormous lock on it, though, one that any normal person wouldn't be able to break through without proper tools and enough time. But she wasn't normal. A moment after she told the servant to go and he ran in the opposite direction, she stretched out her hand to the lock and summoned her power. She heard the lock unhitch and door swung open.

She surveyed the vacant area. If this wasn't a dungeon, she didn't know what was. Water trickled down the dark bricks and into puddles on the floor, and the glimmer of candles reflected on all of the glistening, glossy surfaces. It was completely eerie, to say the least.

It was also freezing. Her breath rose in a hazy mist in front of her and she felt the need to wrap herself up in her cloak. In comparison to the rest of the palace, which was heated with the dozens upon dozens of fireplaces, this place felt like an icebox.

It wasn't the cold or darkness that disturbed her most, though, but rather the harsh smells that reached her nose. Human waste mixed with death, so thick in the wet air that she felt nauseated. She pulled the edge of her hood over her nose and crept forward, examining every prison cell she passed.

Her heart was pounding so painfully loud in her ears as she wondered how long it would take for her recent hostage to summon the aid of guards or someone nearby to hear her, for surely there had to be some security in this prison. But other than her thunderous heartbeat and her quick, tense breaths, she didn't make a sound.

The twisting of her stomach increased with every step she took, for in every cell she found rancid corpses. There was a moment where she found she had to stop and force herself not to sob at the sight of a dead boy, about the young farm girl's age, who was huddled into the back corner of one of the dim prison cells wearing filthy rags. She turned away, unable to look at the teenager's body any longer, with his pale hand clutching a token of the Unnamed God close to his chest. Elphaba mourned for the innocent life, and in her sadness, she wondered if anyone even knew this poor boy was missing from the streets and had taken time to grieve for him.

As her eyes turned from the young boy, she saw a pair of familiar leather boots in the soft glow of the flickering flame, and her breath caught in her throat. She ran over to the opposite cell, gazed down at the unmoving body that lay there, and closed her eyes when saw its face.

It was Fiyero.

She whispered his name, but he didn't stir. She called for him again, this time louder, but he still lay motionless.

Elphaba couldn't breathe. She wanted him to be alive so bad that her emotions completely ignored her logic; what other reason would she have given up so much of herself to try and resurrect him from the dead? To give every last ounce of energy she had in her and to even sacrifice the blood from her veins to find him? Yes, the optimist in her yearned for life in him, but the realistic part of her knew that he had been dead all along. As she looked upon him, she had no doubt.

He was sprawled slightly upon the soiled floor, and though she could barely see his face in the faint light, she could identify him without any hesitation. After their nights with nothing but the moon and a small lantern to see each other by, she could find him with her eyes closed. But at that moment, her eyes were wide and fixated upon all of Fiyero's blood in dismay. Through the shadows she could distinctly see the dark red smear down part of his face, having dripped somewhere from past his hairline. What was worse was his shirt: the entire tan fabric was starched and stained from blood loss that had seeped from between ragged tears.

A hoarse moan escaped her throat, but she didn't bother to try to muffle it. She didn't try to halt the tears. She didn't try to suppress the magic that began to build. She just stopped trying.

All her life, everything ended before it ever truly finished. Broken things littered her existence. Her early life was filled with small destructions and hatred, as if it was some foreshadowing for the future. When she was a child, it seemed her touch was all that was needed to destroy whatever she held – usually it was just a toy – and her derisive father just assumed she liked ruined things better. But she never did.

Even back then she knew she was not right, as if she was born with this knowledge of her abnormality along with self-loathing. She never looked at her reflection, though the other children seemed so fascinated with their own. She hated to. She hated her skin, her sharp features, her strange eyes.

It wasn't until Nessarose was born that she had begun to settle down. Poor Nessa was so small and tangled, and far more damaged in some ways than Elphaba would ever be. Even the green girl could see that.

It wasn't until Nessarose was born that their mother would never wake again. And it was all because of her.

The unusual child grew up strong and stubborn though, despite her secret guilt and her burden of fault. She had to; she became responsible for her younger sister who looked to her with her big, brown eyes for help and guidance in everything she did. That was how she learned to love and care in the uncontrollable way that hampered her adult life so.

Elphaba also came to find that she didn't need to carry that stress of detestation for herself in her heart so much, for her father took up the task well. He hated her so strongly for being the way she was and expected nothing but evil from her. It was one thing to learn to ignore and tolerate taunts and abuse from strangers, for they were only that: strangers. But to live with someone and love them in a way that was never returned was difficult for her. It did, however, provide the motivation she needed to keep being strong, to be as good of an influence as she could for her younger sister, and to work hard in everything she did to prove Frexspar wrong.

It was in her hard work and self-reliance that she discovered her own competence and her passion and ability for learning. It was a compensation, to say the least, for all of her faults, and in that way little Elphaba was able to be confident in herself. That in itself was an enormous accomplishment for a child who looked the way she did and who did nothing but break everything she touched.

All the same, the more she evolved and matured, the more she distanced herself from everybody, which most people seemed to prefer except for her. But, she thought, at least the farther away she kept from others – both physically and emotionally – the safer they would be.

And she had always tried to do good things.

One question haunted her though, so much that she never spoke of to anyone: had she really been seeking good or just attention? Was that all good deeds were? In the years that had gone by she never knew.

Over two decades had passed since Nessa had been born, her mother had passed away and her father had begun to hate her as strongly as he did. It had been more than twenty years since she had learned to stand up for herself, to put herself above ignorance, and to guard herself from the world's injustices. She had nearly a quarter of a century to protect her sister, to learn of friendship and love, and to change the world.

Yet somehow all the managed to do was to get everyone killed she had ever cared about. None of them had been safe after all. Everything she ever worked for was left unfinished, broken. No good deed had gone unpunished.

Maybe her father had been right all along. Perhaps she had been foolish to think that it was ever possible to show him and everyone in Oz that they were wrong.

_Let all Oz be agreed,_ she thought coldheartedly._ I'm wicked through and through. _

In the cold of the dismal dungeon, she was aware of the wet teardrops that rolled down her cheeks and the length of her nose. She could feel the chill of the unrefined iron bars she held in a death grip. The unnatural sensation of magic was undeniable as it flowed through her veins, tickled her fingertips, and pulsed through her palms.

But she couldn't move other than the uncontrollable trembling of her body and ever-tightening grip the bars in front of her.

So she let the tears fall, and she let the metal gate twist and bend and break as her power flowed through the natural channels of her hands.

As the grip of metal she held disintegrated from her grasp and her hands fell limply to her sides, she decided that she no longer wanted to fight. Let any guard who found her to take her; she surrendered. Let this be where she ended.

And then Fiyero moved.


	10. Chapter 10

**See, Leia? I'm updating, so need to throttle me :) While I usually post my updates late night Sunday, it is actually before noon here! I've been impatient all week to share this next part. It's what we've all been waiting for, after all, isn't it? I hope you all might consider leaving a review, because your poor writer's been stressed lately and she could use a boost :) Okay, enjoy!**

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When Fiyero awoke from his deep sleep, he was not happy. When he was sleeping, he didn't have to see where he was, deal with the bullying guards when they came by on their rounds, have to feel the pain and discomfort of his injuries, and most of all, dwell on the memories and realizations of the last few days.

So, when he heard a noise that brought him back to consciousness, he felt determined to go back to his nap. He rolled over to his side, groaning slightly at the effort, and tuned out the sound. Good, it stopped– maybe he'd be able to catch up on that shuteye he was forced to miss.

Well, there was only that problem of feeling like he was being stared at.

"Oh, go away," he grumbled, covering his face with his arm.

Whoever or whatever it was, didn't leave. It was getting irritating.

He propped himself up on his elbow and glared at his audience. To be truthful, he had been expecting a big, ugly guard, not a mysterious hooded figure. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to be bothered by anyone's taunts and cruel words, or, in this case, creepy staring.

"What do you want here? Are you going to mock me too? Did those stupid soldiers send you over here as a joke? To see how I'll react?"

"I came here to break you out," spoke a woman's voice indistinctly from under the dark, looming hood.

Well, _that's _an interesting idea, he thought.

Fiyero rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself up to his feet (he learned the hard way this was the least painful way of getting up to avoid overworking his tender midriff). He was able to look over this stranger better from this viewpoint, and the only thing that seemed to stand out to him other than the black cloak that concealed this figure were the long, slender arms that seemed to glow against the dark outfit and surroundings.

His eyes narrowed at her; why would someone who would break into the Emerald Palace – home of the Great Wizard of Oz and hundreds of Gale Force soldiers – to release one of the prisoners, be clenching her fists so tightly as to make the knuckles even paler when she managed to find him? Was she nervous?

"To break me out?" Fiyero repeated to her. He laughed bitterly. "Who sent you? Hmm? Madame Morrible? The Wizard himself?"

He paused his accusations on the stranger only for a moment to consider her. She was too tall to be Glinda, not that the Good Witch would need to hide her face anyway. Fiyero guessed this person was a member of Elphaba's resistance efforts.

She had mentioned her work briefly and vaguely, and then she emphasized very strongly about how she didn't want him involved with it at all because it was more often than not unlawful and quite dangerous. Even brainless Fiyero could guess that he should heed Elphaba's adamant orders for him if this was a Resistance member, and know that she was intelligent enough not to claim association with the Captain of the Guard at all with anyone in this Resistance in the first place.

That left his theory that this was more likely than not meant to test his guilt; a ploy by Madame Morrible.

It seemed his accusations left the cloaked woman fumbling for words. Maybe that meant he was right.

"Did they send you down here – to break me out, you said? – in order to test me?" Fiyero ventured. "Well, my story isn't changing, and I'd rather stay in this hellhole than to give up my chance at one day really getting out. I'm innocent."

He really wasn't, and he was well aware of that. He wasn't able to do any more for Elphaba, so there was no use in sacrificing himself again.

She was dead.

He lost count of how many people had told him. Guards came out of their way to tell him and rub it in his face. Madame Morrible herself paid her ex-student a visit, confirming it by "expressing her condolences" (he might have accepted it if she weren't smirking so). Most important of all, the stone walls of the palace echoed with songs of the Witch's melting, and all who cheered and sang did so without any knowledge that he was there, listening. So he knew she never made it.

Melted, though… He couldn't accept that. He never considered himself essentially smart, but he had his moments of attentiveness in school. On an especially good day in Life Sciences, he remembered jotting down some statistic or other about how bodies were primarily made of water, so how could anyone be allergic to it? Even if that person was indeed born green? But then again, how was it possible for that person to be born with green skin anyway?

Thinking about it gave him a headache.

Whatever happened, though, she was found in the middle of a small town near Colwen Grounds with everything she owned, including those things she told him in private she kept close because they were incredibly important to her or her cause, strewn upon the Yellow Brick. Many soldiers took glee in describing the scene in detail: the puddle of green, all of the blood…

At first, he grieved, but once someone mentioned Glinda, how she had been the one to handle the situation and verify Elphaba's demise, he realized he couldn't be selfish anymore in his mourning. So he hardened up and came up with a story, for Glinda's sake. Whether he was with the socialite any longer or not, he loved her and he knew her well enough to know that she would be dying inside alone without either of her best friends with her. He needed to be with her and help her through this difficult time. Then they would be able to grieve together.

So he told anyone who questioned him that he had been put under a spell. Simple. Somewhat true, even. He never mentioned that spell was love (something he knew the men in his guard would never let him live down) nor that he willingly fell under it, but he hoped his sudden change of attitude would help convince them he was no longer a victim because "whatever spell she placed on him must have worn off"…or something to that effect, anyway.

Lying like that tore him up inside. The only kind of comfort he received was because she would have told him to do so. She always cared more for his safety than her own.

So he resumed.

"—I'm not being controlled anymore and I'm not going to change that story to participate in whatever plan you claim to have. You must think I'm really stupid, don't you?"

By this time, the woman seemed to have come back to herself, for she straightened up and squared her shoulders huffily. He didn't know much about how women worked, but one thing he knew was that was never a good thing.

"No, not _really_ stupid," she said, and Fiyero felt his mind go blank at the familiarity of her voice and his heart flutter at the due sarcasm. She pulled the hood down from her head angrily. "Do you ever let anyone else talk?"

Holy Shiz, she was alive.

"Elphaba," he breathed in astonishment.

He felt a whirl of emotion inside of his chest as her dark hazel eyes stared hard at him. If nothing else was familiar about her at all, he would know her from that strong look from her deep eyes alone. A simmer of longing filled his stomach, and as he gazed at her through the bars that separated them, he found himself missing that strange color that was for some reason absent from her skin. Her unique complexion was one of the things that made her most who she was, while not directly of course; he silently prayed that this was a transient illusion she had conjured to hide her ethereal and conspicuous appearance.

Despite the dramatic difference, however, he discovered he wasn't at all surprised of the changes that had occurred since they had last seen each other. Dashes of déjà vu and fantastic imagery filled his mind of the weird dreams he had of her as he grieved her death, and as he thought about it, this was how she looked. At the time, he hadn't even noticed.

He had no idea how long they stood there, staring at each other, both of them breathing unsteadily and seemingly loudly in the unnerving silence. How is it that someone like Elphaba, one who needed to commandeer conversations and express herself liberally so often, could just stand there, quiet as could be, with a deafening void that needed to be filled?

Then again, he wasn't usually shy or subdued either.

Fiyero felt like a million thoughts were flying around his head all at once and completely empty of anything intellectual or meaningful at the same time. He must have looked like a fish out of water, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly as he tried to find something, anything to say to her.

Suddenly the words he threw into her cloaked face came back to him, of how he had let himself be controlled by her, trapped under her spell...

"Look, Elphaba, what I said—"

"It doesn't matter—"

"Yes, it does, because—"

"I thought you were dead," they said simultaneously.

In the uncomfortable quiet that followed, he watched as her face split into a crooked smile and her crazed cackle filled the stillness like a blaze in the night before fading into sweet laughter. Her expression went from looking as if she had been through a lifetime of hardships in a dozen hours to relief, like the tension that had been building inside of her and the dam of emotions seemed to just break over the absurdity of their lives. It left Fiyero momentarily stupefied as he stared at her from the other side of the thick, metal bars.

Before long he was grinning as well. This was why he was so in love with her: her passion was intense and her life force was uncontrollable and unpredictable. She constantly left him hypnotized. The soft, harmonious laughter didn't last long and she wiped the cheerless tears still hanging upon her tired face, but the smirk of mirth continued to grace her lips.

He wanted nothing more than to reach out and kiss her beautiful, smiling mouth fiercely. Unfortunately for him, that was part of what was so funny to her because they still stood feet apart from one another with a fortified prison gate impeding their long-awaited reunion.

"So, you're going to break me out of here, then?"

"I've considered it, yes."

"Oh, well, that's good," he bantered lightly as he looked around for weaknesses in his cell. "It's either that or I wait to be sentenced to be put to death, _again_, which doesn't seem all that appealing from where I'm standing."

It took him a couple moments to make sure the two gaps in the bars in front of Elphaba were actually there; in the darkness and layered against her black-clad body it was nearly impossible to see. As he reached out and waved his hand in the peculiar hole between them, he asked, "How did this happen?"

Her smile dropped some, and she shrugged, holding up her hands, which were covered with ashy, black dust. "I was upset," she said in a reluctant tone, as if somewhat embarrassed by another wild outburst of her power in his midst.

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing," Fiyero rejoined. "Look, whatever you did cracked the stone at the bottom so if we can somehow loosen it some more…"

"We need to do it quickly," she said, unexpectedly sober as she glanced over her shoulder down the dark corridor that led out of the prison. "There are guards coming."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I can sense it. I kidnapped someone to find you and then let him go. He must have found some Forcers by now. But at the moment I'm more worried about the guard on rotation…"

She reached forward to handle the two broken bars jutting out of the ground just as he did the same. Their hands brushed together, his over the tops of hers, and they both hesitated for a moment at the contact.

"Step back," she whispered, avoiding his gaze. She didn't want to hurt him; he could tell that just from the look in her eyes.

He did as she suggested and watched patiently, interestedly, as she took a deep breath and wrapped her long fingers around the metal. A clock tick later, a small blast echoed in the deathly quiet dungeon, shaking the stone momentarily and sending a small wave of energy that extinguished a nearby candle.

"Well, if the guards weren't coming before, they are now," Fiyero said, accepting the vicious glare she shot at him before helping her pull the waist high poles from the now pulverized stone floor. One came out easily, and just as Elphaba stood upright with it in her hands, they heard the door swing open at the end of the hallway.

"What's going on down there?"

Fiyero craned his neck to see who was approaching, and he was irked to realize it was one of the guards he wasn't particularly fond of. He turned back at Elphaba to find out what she was going to do or say to him, but she vanished in a silent swish of her cloak into the neighboring shadows. If not for her slight breathing, he wouldn't have known she were there.

Well, he could play along.

"Did you hear that sound? Woke me up," Fiyero grumbled believably, leaning against the gate as the guard stepped up in front of him.

"The door was unlocked. Why?" the man asked him, clearly trying to remain superior to the former captain with his tone and stature. In his haughtiness he didn't seem to notice the openings in the poles between them or Elphaba at all.

"I decided to go out for a stroll," Fiyero responded mockingly, making the sentry stare daggers in return. "How should I know?"

"You were always a miserable excuse for a soldier."

"Perhaps," Fiyero agreed coolly, and saw Elphaba shift angrily in the shadows out of the corner of his eye as though stepping towards them. He smiled smugly. "But while you were watching over dead bodies and empty cells, I was involved with the most renown, powerful, and sexy witches in Oz. Beat that."

Elphaba slipped out of the darkness, hooded and menacing, and clubbed the guard over the head with the heavy rod she still had in her hands.

"There are times that I forget how stupidly male and arrogant you can be, and then it all comes back to me," she said crankily at him, but he could see a faint smirk under the hood. "Feel better?"

"I do," he responded with a smile as he kicked out the second bar the witch had slackened from the floor. "It was nice to get that out of my system. I needed a good brag."

Fiyero wiggled as best as he could out of the small hole they managed to create in his cell and stood next to her, hitting the unconscious soldier on the floor with his boot was satisfaction. She grabbed him by the arm, drawing his attention.

"Don't! Don't touch him," she ordered him as they started walking towards the entrance. "You mustn't hurt them. Don't fight anyone who tries to stop us."

She had always done that to him– demanding him around like that. That, of course, was one thing that first attracted his attention to her when they were younger, for no one else ever spoke to him that way. He was fascinated and goaded by it every time, but, despite being the prince that he was, he also always listened. How could he not? She was brilliant and enticing all at once.

"What do you expect me to do then?" Fiyero asked back. Her steps faltered slightly and she looked up at him; he wished more than anything right then he could see her face under that dark cloak of hers.

"I need you to fight _me_," she said, resuming her quick pace while pulling her befuddled lover along.

"That's ridiculous. I'm not going to fight you."

"You say you're innocent right? Then don't act guilty."

"Elphaba… _Fae_…" he pleaded, pulling her around to face him. Her hood fell slightly and he could see the glint of her eyes peering up at him.

"Fiyero, this isn't really the time," she insisted, but placed her hand affectionately against his chest anyway, perhaps as some sort of self-assurance to his presence.

"For all we know, this is the only time."

"Oh, don't be overdramatic…"

They both could hear hurried footsteps and voices through the thick door that was only feet from them, so Elphaba gripped his shirt anxiously and said, "Remember, fight me. And I'm sorry if I hurt you."

Before he could ask what she meant, four guards, fully armed, burst through the door and stopped to stare at the scene in front of them, which Fiyero had to admit would have seemed out of the ordinary: a prisoner was being held outside his cell by his collar by an ominous figure in the middle of a spooky dungeon? That certainly wasn't anything he experienced on the job, and he chased and dated witches for a living.

He didn't want to struggle against her as he didn't want to harm her at all, even though that was what she asked for, so instead he simply stood there meekly and whimpered to the soldiers, "Help?"

"Get them!"

Elphaba, still clutching Fiyero by the front of his shirt, threw him forward into the line of guards, toppling the front three like dominos as his heavy form landed ungracefully on top. The one soldier left standing stepped around the tangle and pointed his pistol at the witch, but she knocked the side of the gun away from her; it discharged and the bullet went pinging around the stone hallway, missing all six of them. Taking advantage of the guard's momentary distraction, she struck him in the solar plexus with the tip of the metal bar she still held in her other hand, knocking the wind out of him, and roughly drove his gun-arm downward. The gun fired once more but this time, because Elphaba had forced the point of the pistol down between them, the slug penetrated the flesh of the man's thigh and he fell to the floor screaming.

"Hurts like a bitch, doesn't it?" she gibed as he grasped his injured leg, moaning.

Elphaba swung the rod into the side of another soldier's head who slipped away from the mess of wriggling limbs, knocking him out. When she reached out to take Fiyero's sleeve and lift him up, the material of his shirt ripped further with the weight, primarily because one of the fallen guards anticipated her move and grabbed Fiyero's injured torso. The cloaked woman swelled with anger when her prince cried out in pain and she landed a kick in the soldier's family jewels to effectively allow Fiyero to slip away. She quickly grabbed him under the joint of his shoulder and pulled him up, purposely forcing his weight roughly to one side so he stepped and tripped on the two men still struggling below him.

They were only a couple feet from the open door at this point, so she heaved Fiyero's body forward through it. The one guard she hadn't managed to hurt badly stumbled after them and caught the witch by the cloak. Her momentum faltered as the clasp tightened against her throat, cutting of her airflow, and though she fumbled momentarily she didn't lose her balance completely. She whipped around and in one swift move pulled her cloak with her free hand and launched the metal bar end-over-end at the soldier hindering her escape, knocking him back.

Fiyero and Elphaba both threw themselves forward and slammed the heavy door shut, nearly crushing one man's hand as he made one last desperate attempt to stop them. With frantic wave of her arm, the large lock magically fell into place, sealing the doorway shut.

The raven-haired witch exhaled lengthily and stayed propped against the door for quite a few moments, listening to the muffled yells and desperate attempts to unbolt the exit from their side. But the men there were trapped, and she and Fiyero were temporarily safe.

Elphaba felt his fingers slide around her waist and gently pull her backwards towards him. She turned to face her lover as he gently guided her against his surprisingly warm body. Outside of the dreary prison there was light and for the first time she was able to see him properly.

He was grimy and filthy, unsurprisingly, considering the condition of his cell. He was also covered in the dry blood as she discovered earlier. She was afraid to lay her hands on him, unaware of where he was hurt or how badly. Although he acted as though he was all right, as she stared down at his shredded and stained shirt she remembered vividly the guards stabbing and beating him back at Colwen Grounds.

"It's okay, you can touch. I don't mind," he said, and she looked up at him doubtfully. But his crisp blue eyes, even more vibrant in comparison to the dark crimson that discolored half of his face, seemed to almost beg for physical nearness with her, so she carefully ran her hands under the edge of his tattered shirt and lifted it up. She couldn't repress a gasp; his normally golden skin was marred by ghastly yellowing bruises the size of her hand and long, jagged scars that seemed as roughly shut as the wound on her leg.

"Is it painful? Did I hurt you worse?" she asked, and regretted their necessary performance in their getaway as she brushed her fingertips against the contusions. He winced lightly but smiled.

"No, you didn't make it worse. But I do think one of the guards elbowed me in the face as I 'accidentally' shoved their heads into the floor."

Elphaba looked at him, letting the shirt drop back down against his stomach, and brought a hand to softly stroke the pink splotch on his tan cheek. She simpered as her eye caught the tiny white line left from the small lion cub so many years ago; that was the day she realized she had strong romantic feelings for him.

And in spite of her self-control, her rationale and her conviction that she wasn't _that girl_ and the one for him, here she stood years later in his arms.

"I think you'll live," she whispered, and slowly brushed the small white spot with her thumb as she cupped his stained cheek. How had they gotten so close?

"I have so many questions," he told her, his eyes moving down to her lips.

"I think we both do," she agreed.

His hand was at the small of her back, strong and stable, and with that they were flush against each other. She felt her body heat up at the contact. Time seemed to stop as they closed the distance between each other, their lips nearly touching…

A loud bang resounded in the hallway, making them both step apart and stare at the emerald and gold door next to them just as another crash rumbled. Elphaba's hood nearly fell but she pulled it farther forward, engulfing her face in shadow once again.

"Sounds like they found something to ram the door," Fiyero said, clearly maddened at the timing. "They'll be through there in a matter of minutes. Come on, we need to go."

So, with one last pining glance at each other, they ran.


	11. Chapter 11

**I hope to pass 100 reviews with this update. I've never, ever had a story that broke that boundary, so this is very exciting :) I require all of your help this time! You all _must _review and tell me what you think! While that doesn't logically match since I'm only three away from 100, I'll be honest and admit if I can get 13 reviews for this small chapter it'll put me at an average of 10 reviews per chapter, and that is a really, really cool concept. **

**It seems that many of you enjoyed that last chapter in particular. If that was the case for you personally, rejoice!, for this relatively tiny chapter was the true conclusion to the last one. I broke up it after I realized that they both stood well on their own. I think you'll enjoy this; it's certainly one of my favorite parts. But then again, I've realized how much I love writing Fiyero so I might just be biased by his involvement. Glinda's back in this chapter, yay! With that in mind, you can expect rainbows and glitter and happy endings, right? :)**

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After a few staircases Elphaba felt herself growing evermore weak, but that was the last thing she wanted Fiyero to worry about as they tried to escape with their lives. There was more than one occasion in which they nearly took a path but found it blocked by a sentry, and every time they did so Elphaba pulled him hastily back and he would point out another direction to run, so soon they had multiple confused guards chasing them.

"Are you limping?" he exclaimed as they slid around a corner, but she ignored him and flew through an adjacent hallway, forcing the door shut and locked behind them after they cleared it, delaying the few men on their tails. "Do you even know where you're going?"

Undoubtedly she didn't, because she was heading in a direction they most definitely did not want to go. But she kept feigning deafness as he tried shouting instructions to her for the safest route out and zigzagged in and out through doorways he kept instructing her not to pass through.

As they burst out into the familiar open courtyard outside the Wizard's grand entry, Fiyero was positive she led them to their doom.

And they say men are terrible with directions.

Elphaba skidded to a halt as dozens of eyes turned to gape at them, and Fiyero nearly bowled over her. She caught him and held him unreasonably tight by his upper arm as the Gale Officers guarding the Wizard's square began approaching them warily.

"Surround them! Don't let them get away!" they shouted to one another.

Fiyero didn't get frightened often, but to be completely honest he was scared out of his goddamn mind and he was quite sure it showed. While they were able to physically overcome a small number of men down in the cramped dungeon, the ten or so guards circling them in the wide plaza would be much more challenging, if not completely impossible, especially if they were both as injured and exhausted as he reckoned. In addition, there were numerous civilians working, shopping or sightseeing nearby the Wizard's southern entrance and they would all be put in danger if violence erupted. What's more, Elphaba would risk exposing herself, which in turn would probably sentence her to death on the spot if she did anything foolish.

"Long live the Wicked Witch!" she suddenly cried out brashly in a voice not her own, startling everyone who stood in her midst including Fiyero. "Long live the Witch of the West!"

So much for not doing anything foolish.

She was right about one thing above all in the end, he thought to himself: she _was_ a commotion.

"What's going on out here?" a melodic voice called out, gathering the attention of everyone but the guards, who kept their attention rapt upon the problematic pair.

Fiyero's eyes widened in simultaneous relief and anxiety as he saw the great green doors to the Wizard's throne room open inward and his ex-fiancée glide out. As Glinda surveyed the scene, she gave an elegant gasp, called out his name in sincere surprise and ran forward between the guards. They all seemed to step back to watch, as if they were confident their job was done now Glinda the Good was in charge.

"I demand you release him at once!" Glinda commanded in an unexpectedly strong tone to the hooded figure next to him.

He glanced up fearfully at Elphaba, for it was apparent that Glinda did not recognize her (how could she possibly?), but somehow the dark witch did not seem as afraid as he was. Instead, she wrenched his arm back in defiance, and he blasphemed at the harsh pain and fell on a knee in front of her.

"Glinda…" he moaned plaintively, turning his head to gaze desperately up to her, to make her understand: _this is Elphaba_. Even though they ended on bad terms, he knew what he told Elphaba that night was true, that she and Glinda would make up and things would be okay…

Well, that was assuming that they didn't kill one another first, and judging by the way they stood staring down the other, he actually found himself dreading the possibility.

"It's okay, Fiyero. You'll be okay," Glinda assured him, flashing her stunning smile briefly at him before returning to her fierce stare. "I told you to release him."

He couldn't remember ever seeing her so composed and, if he had to say it, frightening in her anger before. Glinda was always the sort to stamp her foot or wave a finger when mad in a passive-aggressive, graceful way. But this, he realized, was indeed something she was entirely capable of and with it she had more power than good manners could ever have provided her. Fiyero realized that there was much Glinda had learned from her green friend since their school days.

"Get out of our way," Elphaba demanded in that strange, eerie tone. It gave him shivers down his spine.

"Let him go," Glinda countered. "What do you want with him, anyway?"

"I want to finish what the Witch of the West started, and if it means taking and killing the prince to do it, so be it! She will live on! Long live the Wicked Witch!"

It was days like these that Fiyero just felt plain old dense. He had no idea what was going on or why Elphaba was acting like a crazy person. She twisted his arm back more, pushing him closer to the floor, and he couldn't help a cry as his sore muscles were pulled farther from place.

He didn't even care. He was too busy staring out of the corner of his eye at Glinda, so intense and compelling, and feeling Elphaba's strong fingers through the thin material of his sleeve, squeezing his arm what he desperately hoped to be reassuringly.

"This is your last warning," Glinda said, and Fiyero's eyes widened as she lifted up her wand, aiming it right at them. He writhed and yanked at Elphaba, trying to stand to protect her, step in the way, push her aside, dive free, talk sense to them, anything; but as he tried to jerk away she only held him more firmly.

He felt torn because he felt that something drastic was going to happen any minute and he worried that he would never see one of them again. They were on the brink of mayhem and he found himself imagining possible futures devoid of one or the other. And it broke his heart, this subconscious weighing, measuring and comparing, because he loved them both too much.

He strained as he turned his head around to look up at Elphaba, but as soon as he did he saw her withdraw what looked like a ceremonial knife from her bag, raising it high above her head. Sweet Oz, she was going to stab him.

Why was she chanting under her breath? Weird.

"No!" Glinda shouted, and a unanimous intake of breath echoed in the courtyard as she whirled her wand and flung a shot of dazzling, glowing light at Elphaba. Fiyero was blinded but could feel Elphaba let go of him, dragging her fingertips as though she were falling away, and he looked up and blinked away the light just long enough to witness something that would forever haunt him:

She released a shrieking, echoing wail and vanished in a column of smoke and flame.


	12. Chapter 12

**For those of you who didn't think you could wait a week for this update, give yourselves a pat on the back! Though take pride that you're breaking me down; I'm updating an hour or so earlier each week because I want to share this with you so much :) Now that I've finished my Glee series and put a decently happy ending at the end of it (I'm sure many of my readers had given up hope for one after the third story or so lol), I hope to get back in to writing this story a little more, especially because in a few more updates we'll run out of pre-written material. Reviews are highly motivating, so you know. ;)**

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The Wizard's entryway was still and quiet for a long time following the thrillifying confrontation, and it only took hours for the entire city to be buzzing about Glinda the Good Witch of the North's defeat of the Wicked Witch of the West's alleged protégé. Not all the stories were the same either; yes, everyone told of Glinda's triumph, but many of the misconstructions included blood and gore, body parts blown off or extra limbs or heads grown, transformations into amphibious creatures or winged monkeys, and for the especially imaginative bunches, mass conspiracy between the Wicked Witch and the Good Witch.

As Fiyero discovered as he pushed himself up to his feet, only moments after the disappearance of the terrorist and as Glinda ran up and threw her arms around his neck, those few extremely creative Ozians would have the best guess.

"Oh Fiyero!" Glinda blubbered as she embraced him tightly. He was still in such shock at what happened only a minute before that he couldn't think and he couldn't react—he could only sag into the petite woman's generous hug. Her cheek brushed against his, yet he didn't even have the mental or emotional power to remind her they were no longer a couple. But he didn't need to. She just whispered in his ear, "Elphaba's fine, Fiyero."

He freed himself from her grip more sharply than he meant to, but he just had to look into her eyes. She did know that the shrouded person she just magicked into oblivion was her best friend? How in Oz's name could she have known? What did she do to Elphaba and where was she? What the hell was going on?

As he gawked at her, Glinda gave a small smile and a wink, putting his racing mind at ease momentarily. Glinda seemed completely sure of this notion of hers, which was good enough for him despite his bewilderment. He pulled her into a tight, excited hug to hide his own beam. Elphaba was alive! …Again!

"I have to straighten up this mess, and you need to stay near me," she said to him, pulling away to catch his eyes to express the importance of what she was saying. "You're still technically a renegoat."

"You mean 'renegade'?"

Glinda's features crinkled adorably in thought before she shook it off. "Yes. That."

"I understand."

"I can't believe it— I thought you were…but you're not… Oh, my head is reeling," she mumbled, touching his cheek and casting him another shaky, sparkling smile, before turning and walking away. While she began giving orders to the idle guards nearby to manage the muddle, Fiyero stared down at the knife that fell where Elphaba had been standing only seconds before.

It wasn't some ceremonial blade as he thought, he decided after he picked up the dagger near his feet. It appeared homemade, and perhaps it had been a souvenir from her travels. The metal seemed hammered and sharpened with hand tools and the heavy dark green and brown wooden handle looked carved from what could have been quoxwood. It was something so very natural; so very Elphaba.

He put it back down on the ground, giving a friendly, neutral gesture with his hand as he did to the guards watching him with a grip on their pistols. With nothing to do but to wait, Fiyero decided to sit down to avoid aggravating any of the suspicious soldiers. He chose a spot on the steps near the landing in front of the Wizard's grand doors, from which he was able to watch Glinda's easy movements through the different throngs of people.

While he didn't regret his decision to break off his romantic relationship with her, he couldn't help but admire her. He spent so long focused on his thoughts and feelings and quest for Elphaba that he gave little consideration to Glinda's struggles. He forgot the bigger picture and believed that everything she did was for attention; while he wasn't entirely wrong – she did love the adoration she received from the people of Oz – there was so much more to it than that. She worked hard and fought to make a difference along the way.

He watched expressionlessly as the Good Witch personally attended to a couple of older women who seemed quite traumatized by the ordeal they had witnessed. She held their hands, seemed to soothe them with her smooth talking and her charming smile, and even managed to make the women laugh lightly at whatever it was she was saying.

An odd group of individuals walked in front of his line of sight, distracting him, and he was embarrassed to find that he couldn't help but stare. The little girl was hardly anything special, with exception to her beautiful slippers (that he knew for sure he had seen before, though he couldn't place a finger on it), but she was flanked by those who were. He had seen many an Animal in his day, though they became more and more discreet and less numerous as the years went by, so he was surprised to see a Lion walking on its back legs right up to the Wizard's door. Even more abnormal though was the man made completely of tin on her opposite side.

It needed to be said: Oz was a bizarre place.

He watched over his shoulder as the young girl went to the guard on duty, her two companions standing quietly behind her.

"If you please sir, we want to see the Wizard right away," the girl said politely. "All three of us."

"Orders are nobody sees the Great Oz!" the guard barked back, making Fiyero frown and wish he still had command over him so he could teach him some manners. "Not nobody, not no how!"

"But-but please sir! It's very important!"

"Not nobody, not no how!"

"The Good Witch of the North told us to come," the girl cried desperately. "Just ask her! We came such a long way to see him. If you could just announce us…"

"It wouldn't hurt to announce them," Fiyero interrupted gruffly as the soldier once again began to turn down the girl. "I imagine the _Wonderful _Wizard of Oz might consider briefly halting his time-consuming duties to help a child in need."

The guard faltered, completely unsure how to respond and most likely hesitant to disrespect his previous commander.

"I shall announce you at once," he answered at last, and turned to enter into the Great Oz's chamber.

The girl turned to smile at him. "Thank you, sir! That was very kind of you."

"It was my pleasure," Fiyero responded.

"We haven't really met properly, have we?" the youngster asked, stepping to him with her hand held out.

"Why, no," Fiyero replied. He had to wait for Glinda anyway, so he was stuck with nothing to do until she was finished. He didn't think it would hurt to occupy himself in the meantime. He took her small hand with his own large one and kissed it suavely, which for some reason made the man of tin next to her clatter as if put out. He automatically felt a twinge of dislike for the individual, mostly due to the fact that the metal chap clearly was not fond of him for whatever reason. The girl, however, blushed furiously and gave a small giggle. "How do you do?"

"Very well, thank you," she replied with a small curtsy. "How do you do?"

"Very well," Fiyero said calmly. No, he thought with his mind on Elphaba, that wasn't really true. "Oh, I'm not doing at all well."

He figured his ragged appearance spoke for itself. But inwardly, he was very frustrated with himself for his incomprehension of what had happened only moments before. Whatever Glinda knew that he didn't about his lover was driving him up the wall and he was impatient to figure it out.

"Can't you make up your mind?"

"That's the problem," he mumbled sarcastically. "Haven't got one."

"How can you talk if you haven't got a brain?" the girl answered smartly.

Despite his crankiness, he grinned– he liked this kid. "Some people without brains do an awful lot of talking, don't they?"

"I guess you're right," she smiled.

"You're Fiyero, Miss Glinda's fiancé," interjected the tin man rudely, surprising both Fiyero and the girl.

"I am. Was. Previously," Fiyero stammered, perplexed as to why this was at all relevant to this virtual stranger. Though, if you twisted his arm, he had to admit there was something recognizable about this rusty, musty character.

"So she's not engaged?"

Before Fiyero could grill the creature for his interest into his and Glinda's personal lives, the door to the Wizard's hall entered and the guard returned only long enough to declare, "The Wizard says go away!"

"Go away?" The young girl's face fell she sat down on the stair in front of him, her two friends kneeling on each side.

Oh no, she was going to cry. Fiyero started sliding away, but she grabbed his hand for comfort as she started to bawl.

"And I was so happy! I thought I was on my way home…"

"Oh, don't—! …Don't worry…" Fiyero consoled. He hoped he sounded sympathetic, but truthfully, he really just wanted her to stop. He was never any good with crying women.

He glanced up and saw Glinda making her way back over to him. While the girl sobbed about her aunt and how she never appreciated how good she was, Fiyero sent over a frantic look, begging his former fiancée to save him. She smirked but froze momentarily as her blue eyes surveyed the peculiar group that had surrounded itself around the young girl and her dog. But she seemed to have gotten the message to come to his aid clear enough.

"Miss Dorothy, what's wrong?" the blonde asked as she approached and kneeled in front of the child. All three of Fiyero's new acquaintances perked up as the Good Witch entered their midst, particularly the metallic fellow that was so interested in their relationship, Fiyero noticed.

"I came all this way to see the Wizard, just like you told me to, and now he won't see any of us! I'll never get to see my Aunt Em again…and the Tin Man won't get a heart and the Lion won't ever get his courage!"

"That's not true," Glinda said, patting her arm in a reassuring way. She paused to peek at Fiyero to communicate her displeasure with the matter before she sighed quietly. "Following the events a few minutes ago, I imagine the Wizard is quite concerned about his safety due to this intrusion occurring so close to him. It probably wouldn't be in your best interest to see him right now anyway if you hope for his full attention. However, I'll make sure you'll see the Wizard as soon as possible; you have my word."

Fiyero didn't realize he was holding his breath until the little girl sniffled and nodded her head; then, he exhaled more dramatically then he meant to in gratefulness. No one noticed but Glinda.

Glinda assured them that she would be back soon to ensure them hospitality in the palace, but first she needed to officially escort Fiyero somewhere to rest. He was profoundly grateful for that, but he was fine with never resting as long as she took him to Elphaba.

So, she helped Fiyero to his feet (and even with her help, he felt droopy as though his body had turned to wheat) and they went over, first to pick up Elphaba's fallen blade, then out towards the North Tower.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Glinda turned to him and admitted, "I don't care how much that girl cried— if she asked me to go back in there to talk to the Wizard today, I wouldn't have done it. I don't know how I will be able to look at him at all anymore; I just got through a meeting in which he described your burial and grave on the western wall of the Emerald City."

"At least he thought to bury me in the Vinkus," Fiyero joked. She just frowned.


	13. Chapter 13

**I slept in today, which was nice but it has left me a little discombobulated. I poked my head into the Wicked forum to see if there were any stories I wanted to read, thinking, "Oh I wish I could update my story..." Then I realized, "It's _Sunday_!" I was so excited! **

**Shortest chapter EVER. Well, not in the history of all chapters in all fan fics, but the shortest one I've ever posted for any of my stories. I think you'll enjoy it nonetheless. But you'll tell me if you do (or don't, I suppose), so I don't have to worry? :D Please?**

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As Glinda and Fiyero left the Wizard's southern courtyard, he was aware of the space she put between them as they walked.

He didn't blame her for being angry.

But he didn't want it to continue like this. As much as he deserved her silent treatment and resentment for how he hurt her, they both earned honesty between one another after spending so long with one another. He especially owed her at least that.

"Glinda," he said, and turned her head with a small smile while they walked to let him know she was listening. "I just wanted to say that I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

"You didn't, don't worry about it," she responded quickly, but she wouldn't meet his eyes again.

"Don't be like this," he said as he tried to match her quickening pace. "Don't be fake with me."

"Fake?" she snapped, spinning and glaring at him incredulously.

He knew he probably shouldn't have said that because now she was going to hit the roof; he was completely aware of how wide-eyed and petrified he must have seemed as they stood facing each other in the empty hallway. Way to be a man, Fiyero.

"Okay, I'll be honest," Glinda responded bitterly. "I was planning on ignoring the fact that you broke my heart simply because I'm happy to see you alive. But since you want to talk about being _fake_, I suppose I could humor you. For _years_, Fiyero, _you_ were the fake one, if you remember. You pretended to love me and bided your time until you found _her_. Do you understand how humiliated I feel? That I couldn't figure it out on my own that all this time, under my nose, you were in love with someone else? That you lied to me?"

"Glinda, wait," he appealed, stepping in front of her to keep her from walking away and to make her look at him. "I didn't lie to you. I never pretended to love you—it was real. But it was not in the way that I should have if we were going to be married. You don't see that you've been the best friend I've ever had! There was no one I trusted more than you."

"Except with your true feelings."

"But that's only because I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I hurt you or if I pushed you away. I can hardly do so now."

"You should have told me," she said stubbornly. "You should have told me how you felt about Elphaba. I would have understood! I may have even been happy for you!"

"No you wouldn't have. You were used to getting whatever you wanted, and it wasn't until long after Elphaba left that you figured out that you can't have it all. And I know you two were friends," he continued, kicking himself for what he was going to say, "but how would you have felt watching as she got everything you ever inwardly wished you had? The things that, despite all the truly remarkable things you've done, you weren't ever able to obtain? The guts to stand up for what you believe in, no matter what everyone else thinks? To let go of your personal dreams for the greater good? Freedom from expectation?"

"…You?" she appended sadly, and he turned his eyes down. "Probably the way that I feel now."

"You and I, Glinda, we're perfect together. Too perfect. There's no room for mistakes, no room for growth. Maybe this is because I got hit in the head really hard, because I don't think either of us has ever heard me say this before, but I want to learn and experience so much more than this superficial life we've been given," he said and gestured to the magnificent palace wall nearby. "And I think you do too. When I'm with Elphaba, I see things differently. And someday, you'll find a man who will help you be everything you can be; someone who loves you the way a husband and a lover should. Someone you deserve."

Fiyero's heart was pained when he looked down at tiny Glinda, as glassy tears filled her eyes and she bit her lip. Staring down at her dainty hands, she asked quietly, "…Do you really think so, Fiyero?"

"Yeah, I do," he said as she wiped a tear away. He stepped forward and enveloped her in an embrace. She laid her pretty head against his chest, and he rested his chin on top of head. Mostly due to her small size, they fit together seamlessly, but then again, they were perfect, albeit too much so.

"I really do want you and Elphaba to be happy together. Even if we couldn't be."

"We still could happy," he suggested, as she turned her head up so she was looking at him. "It's important to me that we stay friends. I know that's a lot to ask…"

"It _is_ a lot to ask," she answered, her face still somber. "But lucky for you, it's important to me too. Don't think that means that I forgive you."

He had the decency to look guilty, and she stepped away and held out her arm to link with his.

"Come on, your true love is waiting for us."

Fiyero chuckled at her teasing remark, glad that for the most part, if only for the time, things were all right.


	14. Chapter 14

**I don't know why I feel guilty about being "late" posting this, considering late Sunday/early Monday was when I used to update all of the time, but you all seemed so sparkly and happy when I updated a few hours sooner. So I'm sorry. It's been a bit of a long day. Almost five years ago I started at my very first job, and tonight was my last day at that job. Instead of rushing home to post this I sat on a rock outside and reminisced for a while. The whole evening was rather bittersweet. If you feel up to it, I know reviews would help make me feel better. And if that's not a good enough reason, Elphie's back. :)**

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Elphaba materialized in a plume of smoke and embers in the middle of the North Tower's penthouse, and as soon as her feet touched the ground she collapsed in a coughing, shaking heap. A wave of nausea hit her and she dry-heaved, but her stomach continued twisting and lurching. Despite her discomfort, she was grateful that she hadn't eaten anything in nearly two days' time, if just for the carpet's sake.

It wasn't the first time she had teleported, but it was such a difficult, strenuous, and risky spell (one from the Grimmerie, of course) that she had always avoided it at all costs. Transporting herself entailed numerous illogical and excruciating contradictions. The moment the hex took affect her body felt stretched and shrunk instantaneously and simultaneously; she was ripped from the ground, and the forces of gravity and momentum forced her form in different directions; the seconds between realities were filled will blinding lights and limitless darkness. When she finally arrived, she was greeted by burning hot flashes and cold sweats, which were the worst only because the feeling lasted so agonizingly and annoyingly long.

It took a while until she could get up.

Elphaba, after pushing away her heavy black hood, blinked away the haze and looked around the room she was in. She had undeniably arrived in Glinda's residence. The walls were pink, but not _too_ pink thankfully, and ivory linens and gold adornments decorated the room. There was a traditional, timeless grace to the space as to make it worthy of the Good Witch of the North.

She reserved a moment in the silence to sigh in relief at her success and her newly required security. The spell required a bunch of guesswork, and since she had never been in Glinda's home before, she had hoped that her brief view of the spire would have been enough. Clearly and fortunately, it was. And she managed not to turn up in a wall or midair a couple hundred feet away! She was rather pleased with herself.

Glinda and Fiyero hadn't arrived yet – she had said she probably wouldn't be able to until she was able to "tidy up the bedlam" they would create downstairs – so Elphaba wrapped an arm behind herself and pulled out the broomstick she had hidden away, leaning it against a wall nearby. She slid off her cumbersome messenger's bag and her heavy cloak, took a breath and shook herself loose, trying to remove the tension and tightness from her tired muscles that seemed to immediately lift without these things weighing her down.

She walked slowly around the large quarters, learning and absorbing everything she saw. Thinking back to the time that they were roommates, the apartment was different from the other side of their shared dormitory, she quickly noted. Far different.

Foremost dissimilarities that stood out to Elphaba were the collection of books and the fancy writing desk along one wall. Elphaba wasn't surprised about the books _exactly_, but more so of the vast number and of their lackluster nature. (Young Glinda, or Galinda, she supposed, was bright but easily bored.) These texts were filled with chronicles and recipes of magic, histories of religion, deliberation of philosophy and records of economics. She lost track of time perusing the volumes, absorbed in their content. They were the kinds of things that a young green-skinned girl she once knew spent lonely hours buried in, not the fashionable socialite.

After pulling herself from her reverie, she returned the tomes she had been leafing through and continued her examination of the room. She skipped over the desk, feeling uneasy with shuffling through her friend's personal work. Across the large space was a beautiful four-poster bed, the sheer curtains of which were tied. If she didn't know that the blonde flailed in her sleep, she would have questioned the sheer size of the mattress in comparison to her tininess. But Elphaba remembered the many mornings she woke up to see her roommate sprawled completely over her bedspread, taking up as much room as possible, and she smirked lightly in recollection.

Something on the bedside table caught her eye, and as she approached it and was able to see it better, her brow furrowed. It was a picture with Glinda, Fiyero, Boq, Nessarose, and herself from years back. It was taken the night before she and Glinda went to the Emerald City, and the small group of friends all went out to the local pub to celebrate. Everyone was genuinely laughing as they talked to one another, and no one, except perhaps Glinda who had glanced at the camera, seemed at all aware that someone stood nearby, capturing the moment.

Elphaba slowly reached out and picked up the frame, brushing her other hand over the young and innocent faces immortalized under the glass. Nessarose, so tragically beautiful, was rosy-cheeked and most likely tipsy. Her hand was placed fondly on little Boq's shoulder. He had a kind smile as he spoke to her, most likely telling her a funny story.

Oh, how she used to enjoy young little Boq and his bigheartedness. It was a shame the misfortunes he endured in the years following this picture. She doubted he would have ever suffered so if she had only stayed to take care of her sister instead of disappearing as she did…

Just on the other side of the young Munchkin boy was a young, healthy and green Elphaba Thropp. She supposed it wasn't a bad picture of her at all – not that she was very good at judging them – but she seemed happy and at ease. In her thin, emerald fingers, she clutched a glass mug in front of her and was laughing gaily without a care in the world.

Elphaba knew that moments like this one depicted were rare in her life, regrettably but truthfully. For once, everything seemed to have been going right for her and she was genuinely content at that point in time. If only that young woman knew what would happen to her in only about a turn of the clock, she wouldn't possibly been able to smile.

Next to Elphaba in the shot was Glinda, of course, in all her dazzling beauty and delightful youthfulness, gesturing theatrically as she entertained the green girl that she was facing and the handsome prince on her other side. Neither of her audience members seemed to notice the wily glance away from them at the camera the moment the shot was taken.

Part of that would probably be due to the fact that dashing young Fiyero's gaze seemed to be fixated in another place. At first, it appeared he was looking at Glinda – and why would anyone question that when his hand was placed on her back the way it was? – but upon closer inspection, Elphaba was knocked for six to realize that Fiyero was captivated by _her._

Every time Fiyero looked at her now, after he ran away from his job and flawless, ideal life, she still held disbelief that it could all be true. '_How could anyone, especially someone as amazing as him, ever love someone like you?'_ that cynical voice in the back of her head kept asking. The fact that he claimed to have felt affection for her all those years ago was even more preposterous to her. That skeptical part of her never accepted it to be true.

_But_, she thought, touching Fiyero's image in wonderment, _this wasn't an accidental glance._ Everything he was doing he was in total control: the way he was balancing on two legs of his chair; how an arm was draped over his one leg that was folded up near him while the other was hung over the top of Glinda's chair with his hand flat against her upper-back; the smile he had resting on his lips. With that in mind, it was hard to keep convincing herself that the way he was looking at her, with such intensity, focus and veneration, was just coincidental timing.

She couldn't do it because that was the way she kept catching him looking at her during their flight from Oz.

Elphaba put the frame back in its place, feeling almost contented but also overwhelmed with the assurance the photograph provided. There were times that she wished she or Fiyero had been brave enough all those years ago to be honest with one another about how they felt. Maybe things would have been altered. Maybe she would have stayed at Shiz and wouldn't have seen the Wizard. Maybe they would have had the chance to live an ordinary life with a regular relationship with him…

But no, she didn't think it would have been that easy. They were so young; she was too ambitious and blindly optimistic and he was too egotistical and carefree. In their years apart, they both grew up. Fiyero told her right before he left the Emerald Palace with her that he changed, and it went without saying that she had too, so very much.

Glinda had mellowed too; she shuddered to imagine how young Galinda would have handled her two friends running off with one another. Oh, the temper tantrums, the fighting that would have ensued…

Elphaba heard the door click and turned as her old roommate and Fiyero entered. Glinda stayed by the door, closing it softly behind them, but he rushed over to her and hugged her immediately. She couldn't help a laugh at his uncharacteristic entrance, nor could help but melt in his arms.

Despite their struggles, in the end everything seemed to work out all right, she considered.

She wanted to hold him close, but because of fear for his injuries, she settled with wrapping her arms around him lightly and resting her head on his shoulder. He was so solid, so strong, and so real. He was breathtaking.

Elphaba was so in love with him it drove her crazy; something which she was sure had affected her judgment at least once in the past few days. If anything had been different, such as if she had never cast that desperate spell meaning she wouldn't have been sidetracked by her own mortality and degreenifacation, she feared for what would have come about. With nothing to lose, what would the Wicked Witch of the West have done? What could have happened to Oz?

She felt him kiss the top of her head and her heart fluttered. Not only did he have the ability to potentially turn her into an unstable sociopath, everything about him from the way he looked at her to the way he touched her made her excitable, romantic, and starry-eyed as well. But that was her secret, and she wasn't planning on telling anyone anytime soon.

And she knew better than to go off into her own little Elphaba-and-Fiyero world, especially when her best friend was watching them from the other side of the room. Elphaba moved her head up so it rested instead on the crook of Fiyero's neck and locked gazes with Glinda.

Her expression was hard and inscrutable. No doubt she was furious at the sight in front of her, but she covered it well, Elphaba thought. Taking into account that the last times they had all been together Fiyero had broken his engagement with her friend rather tactlessly to be with her, then she had rubbed Fiyero's decision in Glinda's face and he had held his ex at gunpoint to allow his rebel lover to escape, Elphaba could not continue their display of affection in front of her.

But however the Good Witch felt, she seemed to set it aside and instead smiled amiably as Elphaba gently pushed Fiyero away. She immediately missed his warmth.

"You two are a sore sight for eyes," Glinda said to them in a surprisingly fond voice.

"Don't you mean, 'a sight for sore eyes'?"

"No."

Her friend probably had a point if she looked even half as bad as Fiyero did. And judging from her reflection on a nearby mirror (with this being Glinda's bedroom, there were a few around to say the least), she had to agree. She certainly felt horribly aching, exhausted, and to add to that, ill from her sorcery, but her appearance was filthy and worn enough she could have passed for someone that had been sleeping on the streets. Well, minus the having gotten sleep part. That showed quite noticeably: dark circles were starting to appear below her eyes, and her pale face seemed somewhat gaunt in the mid-morning light. Her hair was stringy, still somewhat damp from the rain, and knotted from having been whipped by the wind for hours on end. She had faded reddish-brown streaks on her face from where she anxiously ran her bloody and muddy hands earlier, and though they were hardly noticeable, they hadn't been completely washed away by the rainfall. One look down reminded her that her skirt and boots were caked in crusty muck (which was once again fortunate for the carpeting).

But, other than being physically shabby and hurt, she felt good. And Fiyero seemed the same way as he smiled down warmly. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a mischievous way as he brushed his hand against hers, tempting her fingers to wrap around his as if knowing how much of an inner battle she was facing in trying to keep herself from him in front of Glinda. She glanced away to keep either of them from seeing the shy smile that crept to her face or the blush she forced herself not to appear on her cheeks. Elphaba forced her gaze back to Fiyero with as fierce of a look as she could muster in her slightly flustered state in return for him teasing her so.

"I have to say, I don't think that could have gone any better if we planned it ourselves," Glinda added calmly as she walked around, picking out clothes and a bathrobe from drawers nearby before dropping it onto her bed for Elphaba. With a self-satisfied smile, she threw in, "Oh, wait a clock-tick! We did!"

"Why didn't you tell me you two had a plan?" Fiyero asked Elphaba, his cute grin dripping down as his gaze bounced between both witches. "You confused and scared me more than I'd like to admit. What happened down there?"

"It was just a bit of trick magic on my part," Glinda explained, giving her wand a little flourish.

"And some dangerous magic on mine," the other witch added, her features shadowing as she frowned. She still felt queasy from it.

"I still don't understand when you cooked this up," Fiyero said, his eyebrows nearly lost in his stringy bangs.

Glinda just smiled up to him while Elphaba told him simply, "It's a long story."

"I've got time!" Fiyero said, his voice cracking slightly. Even Elphaba laughed quietly at him.

"No Fiyero, you don't," Glinda corrected, and he gaped at her, confused. "You need to come with me and so we can repossess your belongings. I have no doubt that they've already been packed and are ready to be shipped off to your family with a note of condolences. Don't look at me like that! Do you _want_ to deal with your parents if they receive the personal effects of their dead prince?"

"I don't want to deal with them when they know I'm alive."

"Well then, let's go clear up the Wizard's pronouncement of your passing then, shall we?"

"But…but all those stairs!" Fiyero complained, pointing to the door in reference to the enormous spiral staircase they must have climbed to get to the top of the tower.

"Oh, what a baby! I figured seeing Elphie would be worth an extra trip up and down the steps…"

"Of course it was, but do I have to go?" Fiyero asked, looking for Elphaba for support.

"Yes!" Glinda retorted. "You're my proof that you're not dead!"

"This is just ridiculous."

"Quit whining. I've got plenty of other things I need to do besides listen to you and save your precious royal possessions…"


	15. Chapter 15

**I don't usually get personal on here, so I appreciate you letting me get all mopey last week. You definitely cheered me up, as usual! I feel like I have the best reviewers. Admittedly, I like to reread them sometimes because it's hard not to feel really good when I see the nice things you put. :)**

**I just want to take a moment before I let you guys dive in to this chapter to address something that Leia Emberblaze brought up. While this story has had a fast pace and a lot of action in it, it's not going to be a constant throughout the rest of the story. There is a reason I categorized this as a drama rather than an adventure story because fixing and building the relationships is my biggest priority, not putting in action sequences for the hell of it. And there is still a lot of work to do. Let's let Elphie and Glinda talk some things out, shall we?**

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Elphaba watched them bicker all the way back out the room. Glinda gave a cute wave and Fiyero shot a distressed, pitiful look before the door snapped shut behind them, leaving her alone once more. She sighed, wishing they had stayed longer than five minutes but also grateful for a few minutes of assured privacy. She particularly missed Fiyero's presence.

But rather than sit idly, and catching Glinda's hint, she grabbed the bathrobe and made for the bathroom to wash up. After running the bath, she slid in, hissing slightly at the heat of the water. After a few moments, her muscles relaxed and she groaned from exhaustion.

Her weariness was hitting her like a ton of bricks as the adrenaline she experienced only a few minutes before evaporated. She wished she had provided herself a cold bath instead of a hot one if only to keep herself from falling asleep in this unfamiliar place. That idea alone was enough to get Elphaba to hastily finish cleaning up and climbing out of the fancy tub, warm water rolling off her body into puddles at her feet.

Her skin was raw and red from the hasty scrubbing she did to try to remove the dirt and blood that had stained it, and this color was something she had never experienced before in her life. She tried to ignore the anomalous reaction that occurred with the familiar feeling of irritation, but no matter how much she tried to put it out of her mind she kept touching and glancing at the redness, apprehensive but fascinated.

She very, very quickly became ill at looking at herself, so she tied the robe Glinda gave her tighter around herself and left the bathroom with the sweet-scented, soapy water draining away.

Elphaba sauntered across to the sliding glass door and slipped out onto the magnificent patio that lay just beyond. It was a sufficient distraction to say the least; from one of the tallest towers of the Emerald City, nearly the entirety of Oz's capital could be viewed from the balcony. Where the gleaming green buildings ended and beyond the towering walls of the city, the western lands of Oz stretched golden as far as the eye could see.

A breeze blew across the balcony and she wrapped her arms around herself, breathing in. The air was fresh and cool; for Elphaba, the hours after the storm were almost as enjoyable as the ones during it, if not more (she didn't have to worry so much about being zapped by lightning, especially being at the top of one of the tallest towers in Oz). The rain had stopped sometime in the last couple hours but cool mists still rode across the wind and the dark clouds still covered the skies. The spray was healing and refreshing against her sensitive skin, and with a deep breath it was enough to awaken her dulling senses.

The door to the apartment slammed behind her and she turned around to her two blondes barging into the room following floating boxes and bags. It seemed in the near half an hour they had been gone, they not only managed to collect all of Fiyero's belongings but also never stopped squabbling.

"You could show a little more appreciation!" Glinda said, gracelessly dropping the load to the floor with a flick of her wand. "I could have made you carry all of that!"

"I said thanks! What more do want from me? 'Oh, _thank you_, Your Goodness! You're so good, Your Goodness!'?"

"Actually, that doesn't sound so bad," she responded with a wink to Elphaba as she reentered the apartment and Fiyero brooded. Glinda shot sparks out of her wand to drive Fiyero into the washroom, and Elphaba could swear the look he returned to the Good Witch shot sparks of his own before he disappeared behind the bathroom door.

"It looks like you and Fiyero are getting along all right," Elphaba commented carefully, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"We're trying," Glinda responded, leaning lightly against the dresser across from her friend. "I'm not going to deny that I'm still upset with him, but he's aware of it. I like finally feeling like I'm able to tell him what I think without being worried about scaring him away."

Elphaba did not respond. While she never bothered to be polite with Fiyero, she remembered feeling the same concern that Glinda did about speaking her mind to him that day she fell in love with him in the forest near Shiz. Unlike Glinda, however, she felt that _after_ her mouth had run away with her and she had ripped into him. To Elphaba's eternal surprise, he had not been easily deterred by her opinion of him, even if he was surprised to hear it. That look she saw in his eyes, while it had been confusing for her at the time, continued to invade her thoughts and memories in the years that followed: that flicker of vitality, defiance and character that constantly hid beneath that arrogant mask of his, alongside his insecurity.

She didn't want to tell Glinda these things, though. While her friend behaved as though she wasn't hurt by the whirlwind that tore through all of their lives in the last couple weeks and changed everything, Elphaba knew better. Even in their years apart, she could still read her old roommate as well as any textbook. She wondered if Glinda could figure her out in that same way, and as the blonde glanced up with a knowing look, she didn't doubt she could.

"You're not going to stay long, are you?" Glinda asked sadly. "What are you going to do now?"

"I guess I'll need to go into hiding," Elphaba responded, slowly walking around to the desk she earlier ignored and finally looking down at it. Her fingers gently pushed aside papers, revealing a news article hiding beneath it from the week before regarding her and Fiyero's escape from the Emerald Palace. "I don't know if you've forgotten, but I'm the Wicked Witch of the West."

"I don't know if _you've_ forgotten, but the Wicked Witch was green as sin. No offense," she added hastily, to which Elphaba just shrugged nonchalantly. "You've been given the opportunity for a fresh start. What if this magic, this queer spell you cast, was for a reason? So you can leave all this Wicked Witch nonsense behind you and live a normal life?"

"And what, hide in plain sight? Hope that everyone is too empty-headed to notice?"

"They could be convinced easily enough that you were wicked."

"And that the Wizard is truly _wonderful_," Elphaba agreed. "Have you thought about him, and about Madame Morrible? Goodness knows they wouldn't react well to big-mouthed Elphaba Thropp being around, let alone alive."

"Don't be silly. Elphaba Thropp is dead."

She understood Glinda's meaning, but she still couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in astonishment at the brazen statement. She was right, however: Elphaba Thropp, in all her green wickedness, died two days ago from a severe allergic reaction to water and would forever remain that way. Or so they hoped.

"Elphie," Glinda said, striding across the room and resting her hand on Elphaba's shoulder placidly. "I understand what you're saying, I really do. But…I had a moment back in Munchkinland, when I went to that town where they found your remains, that I had never felt more alone in my life. It was bad enough having to witness Fiyero's murder and know that I'd never see him again, but…without you too…" Glinda had to stop to keep herself composed. She dropped her hand from the taller woman's shoulder and stepped away, looking at the floor. "It doesn't matter," she said finally, her voice quiet. "I'll make it work; I'll claim you to be my kin or something, and no matter if you choose to stay or go you'll be safe as long as people trust my word."

"Thank you, Glinda," Elphaba said sincerely. "I'll give it thought."

As she smiled to the only friend she ever had, she wondered if the simple gesture was one of greeting or farewell. She initially had planned on leaving soon after arriving whether or not she found Fiyero and never returning again. After everything that had occurred, a part of her had finally given up on her hopes and dreams for herself and for Oz and she wondered whether it would ever really return.

She turned her head and looked down at Oz's great capital through Glinda's glass patio door. She had always thought here, in the heart of Oz, was where she belonged, but that had all changed the moment she learned the truth about the great and wonderful wizard that ruled it. Could she possibly make her life and her way like she and Glinda had once ignorantly predicted they would?

Elphaba's eyes fluttered shut as she imagined the infinite terrain and mountains beyond the city walls. She had come to adore the Vinkus in her years of travel more than she anticipated she would. She had spent years in each of Oz's four states and she preferred it most; it was the only one who experienced the four seasons and the climate to match. If she could die anywhere, it would be in the flowing, beautiful grasslands. It was there she felt the most free and at ease, and it was there she planned on escaping with Fiyero if they even could.

She wondered if what Glinda said had any merit about this transformation that she went through, this aberration of her skin and of her life, being for a reason. Was it meant to give her another chance at existence, with a new face and name? She never held stock in such hot air before, but that was only because she never found reason in any aspect of her being or experiences.

Elphaba summoned up a memory from long ago, the last time she and Glinda were together in the old attic somewhere in the Emerald Palace. She asked Glinda to come with her, but her friend couldn't and didn't. If she even dared to consider the idea of destiny or fate, she had to wonder if she and Glinda were ever meant to be together again. What if Glinda chose to go in her own direction all those years ago for a reason and she was supposed to do the same now? If she decided to stay near to Glinda, would she be clutching on to something that was destined apart? She knew that without having known Glinda she wouldn't have become the woman she was today, and that, for better or for worse, Glinda had changed her for good. Maybe that was all that was intended for them and nothing more.

Oh, but what did it matter– she didn't believe any of that hogwash anyway.

She just knew that in those last moments with her best friend before their dramatic parting so long ago, she wished only the best for her friend as she strove to accomplish something different and incredible with her life, and that she found bliss. Elphaba didn't need to open her eyes to see Glinda's residence or look down at her dress or glittering jewels to realize that her friend did get what she wanted and deserved, but did she get her bliss, without regrets?

"I hope you're happy," Elphaba said into the silence, her voice coming out somewhat strangled as she hoped with all of her heart that it was true. She refused to cry, however, even as her best friend gave her a terribly sad smile in return.

"I try to be, I just don't know how or what I want anymore," Glinda said sadly, her reserve holding much stronger than Elphaba's as she frowned slightly. "But I haven't given up yet, and I hope you haven't either."

Elphaba didn't know how to respond, but thankfully she didn't have to and instead watched Glinda cross the room and pick up the picture frame she had looked at earlier, of their charmed circle's last night at Shiz together.

"I just know," Glinda said, holding up the image between them so Elphaba could see it clearly, "that I now realize how that night was the happiest I had ever been. If I could turn back the clock I would go back to that time with the knowledge I have now: that the people I love are real happiness, not fame or popularity or adoration." Glinda turned the frame around so she could look at the photo once more and she sighed lightly. "Out of all of the pictures I own, this has always been my favorite," she continued quietly, her blue eyes flowing over the image fondly. "I hired a boy with a camera to take this. I had no idea it would be our last time together; how could I have? I've stared at it so often, wishing you were still across the room from me, reading for hours and hours like you used to. I've also stared at it without knowing that I was so utterly unaware of how Fiyero actually felt inside, even though the proof has always been in that look he had in his eyes. He loves you so much, Elphie, and it took me years but now when I look at this picture I finally see to whom his heart truly belonged."

Glinda suddenly sniffled and as she pulled her eyes away from the frame in her grasp Elphaba saw the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. She took a shaky breath and fanned her face with a perfectly manicured hand until she was once again composed. "I knew I shouldn't get going talking so much," she said, laughing unconvincingly and returning the object to the bedside table with an indifferent wave at it. "I probably ruined my makeup."

"Not at all, my pretty," Elphaba told her as she felt her guilt churning restlessly in her stomach.

Her friend wiped a finger anyway under her eye to clean up any loose mascara before she muttered, "I wish I didn't have to go. I still have so much work to do down there, but I'd rather just be with you and Fiyero…"

"You will have time with us, I promise," Elphaba told her, and Glinda nodded. "What do you have to do now?"

"Oh, I've left a little girl waiting for me for the last hour. I told her I'd be right back. Hopefully she isn't crying that I've forgotten about her, I'll have no sympathy."

With that, Glinda waved politely, strode out of the room through the glass door that led to the balcony and disappeared out of sight in her magnificent pink bubble down towards the city below.

Elphaba, alone in the stillness, was allowed a moment to prepare herself, but no more. She still had to talk to Fiyero.

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**The next chapter is easily my favorite; perhaps you can guess why by the last sentence? Review and maybe I'll post it next week ;) Oh, oh, speaking of Fiyero, I was a scarecrow for Halloween (and I made the costume myself, too! It turned out pretty darn well, IMO). I've been excited to tell you all week. What did the rest of you dress up as (if anything)? Anything Wicked/WoO related?**

**If anyone is interested, I changed my profile picture to a drawing of the photograph described in this story that I made like two years ago or something when bored in my film class, just for funsies. :)**


	16. Chapter 16

**Greetings everyone! Early morning Sunday update for you. Aren't you lucky? Well, you only kind of are, because I'm running out of written story so this is the last time I'm doing the Sunday update. :( ****Trust me, that bums me out too, I look forward to doing it all week long. But on a brighter note, I'm updating from my hotel room in California and soon I'll be off to see Idina Menzel in concert! I'm super excited for that!**

**Speaking of super excited, who missed Fiyero? :D**

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Fiyero wondered what he looked like as he sat nearly entirely submerged in Glinda's enormous bathtub, with his face being the only thing visible above the filthy, soap-bubble filled water. Somewhat silly, he imagined, but the warmth of the bath was altogether addicting to someone who had been beaten to a pulp then forced to sleep on a stone floor within the last few days. He felt his muscles loosening up under the surface, so it was with great reluctance that he fished around underneath him for the plug that would release the glorious bath water from around him. But he certainly wasn't brave enough at the moment to stand up and face the cool breeze wafting in from the open window, so instead he sat hiding against the steep wall of the tub until the water drained out completely and the porcelain once again became cold to the touch.

Silently cursing whoever was cruel enough to invent such a wonderful thing such as a bathtub out of such a terribly uncomfortable material, Fiyero finally decided to sit up and climb out of his sanctuary. Elphaba left a couple of towels on a chair nearby, which was considerate because when he dove into the long-overdue bath he hadn't thought so far ahead to when he needed to get out. First things first, he grabbed the smaller of the two towels and hurled it at the open window. But instead of knocking it shut and halting the frigid wind, it hit the wall next to it and slumped sadly to the floor.

So, short one fluffy, warm towel and in a growing huff, Fiyero hastily rubbed dry his hair. His feeling of stupidity grew when he roughly forced the cloth over the painful knot hidden somewhere in his hairline, and he bit his lip to keep from swearing out loud, which of course caused more agony for him as his lip stung. Moaning slightly, he spun in place to distract himself, only to find that Elphaba had slid into bathroom sometime while he was whimpering and doing his injury jig and was standing quietly in the doorway.

"Oh, hello," Fiyero said coolly, suddenly self-conscious of his nakedness and feeling completely unmanly due to the big soap bubbles and suds sticking to his skin. He decided to have the decency to cover himself with the towel, securing it around his waist; it wasn't quite as fun being the only one undressed, and he didn't think he'd manage to talk her out of her bathrobe.

"Hi," she responded quietly.

It only took him a moment to stop thinking about himself and review the woman in front of him. He couldn't possibly know for sure, but this unusual skin color she was wearing (why was that, anyway?) seemed unhealthily pale. Her brow was contorted, but was it fatigue, stress, contemplation, worry? Knowing Elphaba, she carried all of these emotions inside of her as if keeping them from those around her by accepting the burden alone. But she wasn't alone anymore. He would do anything to help her realize this.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Of course, I'm fine," Elphaba responded, with a smile that didn't meet her eyes.

"You don't have to lie to me."

Her gaze dropped from his immediately as though she was ashamed.

He didn't want to appear angry with her, so he dropped his hands down as though to slide them into his pockets until he realized he had none; he was wrapped in a towel. Instead, his arms hung limply and gawkily at his side for a moment, so he moved them so he could rest his hands on his hips. Then, he realized that he looked strict, and he was halfway to cross his arms in front of his chest until he understood that was a bad idea too. Why couldn't they have had a class at Shiz for Body Language in a Towel? No doubt he would have signed up for that the moment he heard about it.

But as he stared at the magnificent woman in front of him, so lost in her thoughts, he knew exactly where he wanted his arms to be. He stepped forward and enveloped her in an embrace, and she gasped softly in surprise at the unexpected contact, but other than adjust slightly so she could also hold him too he didn't let go. He stared down at her ebony hair as her face was buried against his shoulder and leaned his head down slightly so he could whisper to her, as warmly and lovingly as he could muster, "You don't ever have to lie to me, my beautiful Fae."

"Nor do you, my prince," she said to him, pulling away from him.

He frowned at her response; why couldn't she understand how gorgeous she was? He had always been so taken by her and it was a reason far beyond her stunning and exotic skin. Though she attempted to step away, Fiyero refused to remove his hands from around her, thus forcing her to look back up at him and keeping her body at a place he greatly approved of. He tried to read her as best he could, but her deep, dark eyes continued to be a mystery. He eagerly anticipated one day unraveling it.

Fiyero took in the wet tears that glistened at the corners of her eyes with sadness. He hadn't felt them against the skin of his chest, and even though he was still wet from his bath he felt shame for it; Fiyero wanted so badly to just be the lover who could sense and understand her distress without words. There was so much he wanted to learn.

If she too noticed the tears, she didn't acknowledge them or wipe them away. It was though she pretended they weren't there, but strange as it were, for the first time in his life Fiyero wanted a woman to cry. He had a feeling she needed it more than anyone else in Oz.

He didn't break eye contact with her, watching as the shining tears at each corner disappeared. She wasn't going to cry in front of him; maybe it was some desire to appear strong in his presence. For a moment, Fiyero contemplated this was a good thing, for not but two hours ago he sat next to a weeping girl and had no idea what to do. But then he realized he knew exactly what to do for Elphaba: he would pull her close and never let go. And with that particular method with this particular woman, there would never be a greater comforter than he in all the Land of Oz.

Elphaba's hair naturally dried wavy, he thought out of the blue, as a breeze came through the open window. He regretted any of his previous attempts to throw objects at the glass to make it close and made a silent vow to never again shut the pane as long as her beautiful hair continued to flutter around her like it was. And when her dark eyes went up to his hairline, he pondered how his hair behaved when he didn't comb it either; it must be a curly mess.

But all she said, as a loose lock blew over those eyes and as a hand came up to brush across his cheek to his bangs, was, "You're bleeding..."

And he felt himself melt. He loved the gentle yet purposeful touch she possessed. It currently was teasing the skin at his forehead, and for the shortest moment he began thinking to himself that he didn't care if he bled forever just as long as she looked at him like that, touched him that way, spoke in that incredible sexy voice…

Oh, the wound on his head was bleeding? That was a _bad_ thing.

He was quite sure he mumbled something mostly incoherent and extremely unintelligent, but she just smiled at him and pulled out of his arms to tread across the room. He felt miserable with her no longer there, but as he watched her push around her filthy clothing and bloody bandages on the floor looking for something, he felt dense and insensitive.

Why was he so occupied with how their hair looked when she went through what he could deduct was a horrible and exhausting ordeal? She walked back towards him with a clean hand towel and something small and glass, and this time he paid attention to her tight and uneven pace. He recalled how she favored one leg during their furious flee from the guards and wanted to slap himself for forgetting.

"You're hurt," he said to her as she gently pushed him to a sitting position on the cold tile floor.

"So are you, so be quiet for a minute so I can take care of this for you," Elphaba told him. She kneeled gracelessly next to him and placed the cloth against the knot on his head. Had it been hurting this whole time since he hastily towel dried his head prior to her walking in?

"I don't remember seeing you get hit in the head," she remarked.

"It was after I was captured. I don't think the guards anticipated on me waking up after being impaled repeatedly, so one knocked me out again. Next thing I knew I was in that cell where you found me."

She nodded at this, focused on her tending. When she seemed satisfied with how she mopped up the lesion, she held up the small glass vile he noticed only moments before and they both stared at the liquid inside. There was barely anything in there, not even two drops worth, but it seemed to be enough for Elphaba as she pulled open the lid.

"What's that?"

"It's a healing potion. It will be a little painful," she warned. As she dripped it in to his wound, he didn't care how it stung as he stared into her exhausted eyes.

"This isn't fair," he said, and her gaze shifted down to his. "I wanted to be the one to take care of you for once."

He understood as the empty vile slipped from her hand to the hard floor that something he said struck a chord in her. Had anyone ever said that before in her life? Her eyes welled up again and he doubted if he had said the right thing.

Apparently he had. She leaned forward and clumsily caught his mouth with hers. It was a chaste kiss, but he was determined to use it to express how he felt for her nonetheless. A tear slid between their noses and he could taste it on his lips; he slid them away from hers and gently kissed the tearstain left down her cheek.

"Yero…" she whispered, and he felt her shudder slightly as he placed his arms around her once more, keeping her so close to him. He brushed his lips up and placed them softly against the damp corner of her eye; he was willing to kiss every one of her tears away for the rest of their lives, and he saw no reason to not start now.

She shifted and repositioned herself so she sat on his lap facing him, her legs on either side of him. It was such an innocent movement he couldn't even start to get excited over it – him in his towel, her straddling him in just a bathrobe – because he knew she just wanted to be close to him as much as was possible, and he held her against him and planned on never letting go.

"I love you so much, Fiyero, you just don't understand…"

His brow furrowed to why she would say it like that. She sounded so concerned too, as though the slight mention of it would scare him to the opposite side of Oz. Surely she knew how he felt by now? While at the time she was pissed at him (and it caused her what he could only assume was a load of trouble later), he stepped in near of the governor's mansion in Munchkinland because he was ready to die for her. She had to realize he wouldn't make a decision like _that_ rashly; he was quite fond of living. But it was so easy, and he had no regrets because of how he loved her.

But never before that moment had either of them said the three important words, for their limited period together had been focused on physically portraying their feelings and on making up for lost time. Why hadn't he just said it before now? To reassure her, when she remarked on her disbelief that he wanted her, that it was for more than just her body?

"Oh, Elphaba, can't you feel my heart beating for you?"

Fiyero felt her snort against his shoulder and he smiled goofily, despite the seriousness of the topic.

"I can't believe I keep falling for these cheesy lines of yours."

"It's the truth. Sweet Oz, woman, I've been in love with you for years." Now that he said it, he promised himself he would never again make the same mistake; he would never forget to declare the words again.

Elphaba turned quickly to look at him and they nearly bumped heads. The way she stared at him was so adorable that Fiyero was proud of himself for being composed enough not to kiss her crazy at that moment. He smiled at her.

"You saved my life, I know it," he said, running a hand through her long hair. "Something shocked me back to life, quite literally. Feeling my blood begin pumping again was the most painful, most indescribable feeling…"

"Was it like taking a bolt of lightning to the chest?" she said, her voice low. He nodded slowly; he wasn't sure how she understood so well.

Her eyes didn't leave his as she grabbed his hand and pulled it downward. She guided it to her breast and allowed it to slide beneath the bathrobe, and he, though slightly confused and stunned at her action, eagerly pushed the material aside. He looked down, ready to attack the skin with his mouth when he froze.

There, next to his hand, was a deep purple blemish seared into her skin that he knew hadn't been there the last time he looked because he remembered paying a lot of attention to that spot. He swallowed heavily.

"What…what happened?"

"What happened was," she started slowly, her voice suddenly more tired than ever, "I watched you die. You allowed yourself to be taken and killed, like an idiot I'd like to mention." He grinned at her fond tone. "And I don't know. I was so distraught. I just yanked open that stupid spell book and read one of the first spells I saw. Next thing I know, there was a splitting pain in my head, my skin melts off like some bad Ozian rumor, and I saw a flash of light. Then everything went black. That's all."

Fiyero had the distinct feeling that wasn't all, but didn't force her to elaborate. His thoughts and his eyes returned to the soft, fair skin of her breast, where his hand lingered innocently. It didn't feel any different under his fingertips, but he had a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that this was indeed his Elphaba, his green goddess.

"So this isn't some illusion?" he asked, disorientated. "This is forever?"

"I believe so," she whispered, and he tentatively met her scrutinizing gaze. "What are you thinking?"

He opened up his mouth to make a smart comment about how thinking was below him or something of the like, but couldn't. He didn't understand what he was thinking or how he felt. He would love this woman even if she was bright orange with blue spots, but his heart still ached for the loss. How silly, it was just a color. But it was Elphaba's color.

"It'll take some getting used to," he settled on, smiling tensely.

"I always thought I wanted this," she said weakly, putting a hand to her pale, frowning face. "To be normal."

"You'll never be normal," Fiyero teased, "and all the better for it."

She smiled faintly but genuinely, and joined their lips in a silent 'thank you.' She sat back, expressionless and clearly deep in thought, and he rested his hands on her waist patiently.

"When my cut was opened, that must have been when yours closed," she muttered aloud, her fingertips stroking his abdomen, appraising his stab wounds gently. His eyes rolled back at her tormenting touch, but he tried to pretend as though it didn't affect him and to keep his expression as neutral as possible as Elphaba finally placed her palms placidly against his chest. "And when I was electrocuted and my heart stopped…"

"That's when mine started," Fiyero finished for her. He narrowed her eyes at her in realization and disapproval. "You said your heart stopped. But why? Why did you do that to yourself?"

She sighed, hesitating. Finally she said, "Because for the first time in my life, I was truly alone. Without Nessarose, without Glinda, and…_especially_ without you…nothing seemed important anymore. My dreams – no, _delusions_ – and my life…didn't seem worth it. No one else would want me in the world."

"Then they don't realize what they would be missing," Fiyero told her seriously, reaching up and stroking his thumb across her jaw and to her chin, lifting it up so she could look at him. "Your strength of mind and your conviction are both reasons I fell in love with you in the first place; please don't ever let them go."

She appeared so uncertain that it broke his heart. He had no idea how to convince her of how amazing he thought she was. At least when she had her green skin, she could keep her head high in defiance to everyone, but she had no green to hide behind anymore. No, he reasoned as he saw deep in her arresting eyes the glitter of jade, that wasn't completely true. But if no attribute of her own could let her feel like herself anymore, then he could step in its place and be the one to remind her how special she was.

His first tactic was to eliminate the small distance between them and kiss her tenderly, which he executed impeccably. The slow, soft gesture no doubt expressed the devotion he had, and he was willing to forever purely caress her lips with his if only to represent his overwhelming desire for her heart and soul—

Elphaba opened her mouth on his and deepened the kiss, and his ingenious full-fledged plan went out the window, completely forgotten. Goodness, she knew exactly what to do to him to make his brain shut down the limited activity it used. But once it did, his carnal instincts took over and he was able to respond with fervor.

The moment he heard the low moan he elicited from her, Fiyero knew he needed her right then. He grasped onto her tighter and pressed his body into hers, but he found as he shifted, his injured torso did not want to move as aggressively as he did. With a loud groan, he fell backwards at a funny angle and landed on his back roughly, and the thud he heard informed him his head slammed against the tile.

Elphaba had managed to catch herself from falling fully with her hands on either side of him. She looked down at him calmly, and said through heavy breaths and slightly swollen lips, "Are you okay?"

Fiyero was still for a moment, realized the pounding sensation in the back of his head was no where significant enough to distract him from the woman on top of him, and grinned. Her robe was loose on her body now (how it clung to her just enough to tease him he could not understand), and her hair was falling down around her face, tickling his bare chest, waving lightly at the breeze wafting into the room.

That was the best open window ever.

"Never been better," he said, and as she chuckled at him, he felt his heart skip a beat and a sudden surge of daring fill him. Leaving one hand wrapped around her hip and securing the other behind her back, he rolled them over skillfully. She squealed and laughed at the unexpected movement and gripped the back of his neck and his bare shoulder reactively, pulling him even closer. Even with her delicious mouth and skin so ridiculously near his own, he stopped himself from immediately devouring her the second he had her beneath him. Her adorable near-giggles were sounding in his ears, and to him it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He wanted nothing more than to listen to her forever. The swelling of love he felt in response overpowered his lust and he just wanted a moment to be able to look at her, to really look at her.

She was no longer pale like she had been, but rather had a delightful pink flush to her face that only glowed more lovely as she laughed. It wasn't the dark green blush that he had once been so enchanted by, nor were her lips the unique grayish green that had only added to his fascination, but the light hue in her cheeks – so different from any he had known on her or anyone else before – and the reddish tint of her irrepressible mouth had very quickly become his new favorite colors.

Her smile slowly faded, much to his dismay, as she came to comprehend that he was examining her. He allowed her a moment of uneasiness and watched as she pursed her lips anxiously, knowing that he was about to kiss it all away.

"I love you," he reminded her, smirking contentedly down at the prize he had trapped beneath him. "You're so beautiful."

"Is that looking at things another way?" she asked quietly, timidly.

"No. That's just looking at you."

She didn't respond as her gaze moved back and forth between his eyes, and he felt like a piece of art being analyzed for its authenticity. He was being truthful, however, and he hoped the expression held on his face portrayed that to her and that she understood precisely what he meant. He didn't want her to believe that without that atypical skin color she lost that suddenly she held the beauty she had not possessed earlier; instead, he meant that now every man in the would be able to take one look at her and see that she exactly how gorgeous she was, whether that man be a bigot or nearly blind.

Just the idea of another man's eyes taking in the woman in front of him was enough for him to want to claim her right then and there. Though she was momentarily stunned by his sudden assertiveness, it didn't last long and her actions were overwhelming him. Her hands danced across the skin of his chest, shoulders, and back, igniting his nerves as well as further inflaming his passion.

As he laid a trail of kisses along her long neck and she purred his name, he deemed that his second brilliant plan, which included making passionate love to Elphaba until neither of them could move, was well on its way to being a success.

How they both (especially he) had managed to restrain themselves enough not to fully strip one another of the limited material between them was a mystery to him; he immediately set out to remedy that problem. As his hand snuck smoothly beneath the fluffy material of the small bathrobe and wrapped around her thigh, his excitement continued to grow in anticipation of the ecstasy that seemed only a breath away, and he reveled in the heat of her smooth skin just as her robe fell away…

Elphaba cried out suddenly and squirmed away from his touch; he pulled his body from hers in fear. He had no idea what he did but whatever it was, judging by the tension that filled her whole body and the grimace she wore, it clearly hurt her.

"Wh-what's wrong? What did I do?"

She didn't respond, but simply opened her watering eyes and stared somewhere above him, shaking her head slightly as though mad at herself. His brow knitted and he looked down at her leg where he had been touching her and took a sharp intake of breath at the mutilated flesh that the bathrobe had previously covered.

"Oh, Elphaba…" he whispered, placing his hands on either side of the wound and looking at it, feeling sick. There were three thick, deep slashes, dark red in color, but strangely didn't look as if to be fresh. But it had to have happened in the last couple days, since he knew the lesions weren't there before that, and the only conclusion he could come up with is that whatever potion she applied to the bloody knot on his head had been used on this (and probably on that new scar on her forehead as well, he realized smartly). It was far more than he could completely fathom, especially at that particular moment, and he felt his head spin.

He swept his hand on the inside of her leg away from the injury, barely touching the skin there, but just as he did Elphaba grabbed it and pulled it away quickly. He turned to face her worriedly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you…"

"It's not that," she said breathlessly, her expression hard as she laid flat again. "It's just…if you continue moving that way, I didn't think I would have been capable of stopping you."

He blushed and smiled slightly, feeling playful. "And what's wrong with that?" he asked, moving over her again, more-so to look into her eyes than anything. "I can be gentle."

"I'm quite aware of that," she said, her lips upturning slightly.

"Or we can make a rule: I won't touch you below the waist."

"Lurline knows you won't follow that rule more than any other."

He gaped at her, insulted, but after a moment he nodded in agreement, "True…"

"But we shouldn't start to get carried away again. This was probably a good interruption. What if Glinda returns? We can't do this to her; behave like this a room over. It's not fair, not after how we hurt her."

"I've talked to Glinda. She says she's happy for us," he said, brushing some hair from her brow as he tried to follow her rationalization.

"Oh, Fiyero, that doesn't change how she feels. It wasn't two weeks ago that you were betrothed to her. She must have expected to be with you for the rest of her life, and then barely any time later you run off with me, leaving her shocked and alone. And anything I've said to her about it has only rubbed salt in the wound. No, Fiyero, I can't do this to her."

He felt empty and confused, but didn't say anything as he pushed himself to his feet and pulled her up after. While they both readjusted and covered themselves, Fiyero became aware, once again, of how cold the bathroom was.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, avoiding his eyes. He just stared at her, his teeth clenching slightly in his disappointment. He didn't blame her at all; more than anything he was impressed by her respectable consideration for others. And her self-control. "Could you shut that window?"

And, with regret, he did.


	17. Chapter 17

**Hey everyone. I hope you don't hate me for making you wait, what has it been, three weeks? Gosh I suck. I'm sorry everyone. I'm a senior in college and school stress plus problems with my new job plus regular stuff has had my mind bogged down too much for me to pick back up on this story with the enthusiasm it deserves. I figured that the Fiyeraba chapter would keep most of you content for a while while I tried to get the motivation to work on more but not all of you enjoyed it as much as I thought you would, so I do have this chapter ready for those who aren't such hopeless romantics. **

**I was in such a rush to go to the Idina concert last time I updated that I completely forgot to tell all of you the results of the Halloween survey! I certainly got a kick out of it: There were seven of you who claimed to either had been, wanted to be, had been, or will be Elphaba for Halloween. While I give you all big kudos for your devotion, apparently you weren't very original. :) As for the rest, there was one other scarecrow, a female Indiana Jones ("I Diana Jones"), and a pirate. I'm sure none of you care anymore since it's been a month since Halloween but I still find it funny so I had to share. :D **

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In the darkness of his personal quarters, the Wizard of Oz sipped at a glass of green liquid. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice that the record he had playing in the corner stopped and needed to be flipped, or that Madame Morrible had slipped in and was watching him from the corner.

The man had been fine earlier in the morning, but the moment the attack happened outside of his throne room he went all wonky on her, Morrible thought bitterly. It didn't appear as though he was frightened, and as well he shouldn't, as it didn't appear as though the assailant had any interest in the Wizard. Something else in the event had triggered him feeling sorry for himself, and Morrible had the dilemma of deciding whether or not she wanted to find out what it was.

"Your Ozness, what are you doing in here? It is the middle of the day," Morrible cawed, striding across the bedroom and wrenching open the thick curtains. She smiled as the light shone into the pitch black room; though the weather was still somewhat gloomy outside, even the dull daylight would be more than the Wizard would appreciate. As expected, he moaned miserably before dropping his head with a loud 'thump' on the wooden table.

"Have you been up here the whole time since you were evacuated from the throne room? And drinking I see. Are you inebriated?"

"Not yet," the Wizard grumbled, stroking his thumb across the rim of his glass slowly. "Tell me, Madame, what is the situation?"

"Well, from everything I have gathered, the attack was not aimed at you," Morrible responded as she seated herself opposite the Wizard at his scrubbed table and stared at the top of his head. "The insurgent claimed to support the Witch, unsurprisingly. Even in death, Elphaba still manages to cause trouble for us…" She paused. "You aren't still grieving that rebellious little spitfire, are you? You hardly even knew her."

"That's not true. I knew her. Inexplicably."

"She brought this fate upon herself," Morrible said impatiently, flapping a hand in front of her as though to brush the topic away.

"No." The Wizard lifted himself up so he could take another swallow of his drink, then he stared at Morrible while she attempted to keep an indifferent expression. "I brought this upon her! Her death is on my hands. Twice I had the opportunity to help her – to better her! – and both times I let her slip away. The first time, well, who could have predicted she would be so uncontrollable, so passionate, and so…so good?"

"Good? She was a terrorist!"

Surely he couldn't have forgotten all the fear she caused in people, all of the horrible things she had done? Those monkeys, for starters! Those poor, _innocent_ monkeys, thought Morrible with internal glee.

"Only because we made her that way! That woman could have done anything with her life. If only I hadn't felt the need for more power; for more control! Young Miss Elphaba could have completed her education, she could have settled down, she could have been happy. She would never have known that the wonderful Wizard was nothing but a crackpot old fool…a humbug. I am a humbug."

Did the Wizard not realize how pathetic he was acting? Morrible preferred the drunks with anger issues over this, without a doubt.

"Then," he mumbled, as if he felt the need to further explain his midday guilt trip, though Morrible had already heard more than she cared for, "I nearly had her a second time. I meant it when I said I was going to make her wonderful; I wanted to give her everything I had! But the moment she was finally going to crack, finally going to give in, I bungled. She swore to fight me until death, and now that moment has come and gone and I wish more than anything I could have made been the man she could have been proud of."

"Oh, please," Morrible spat out, her tolerance waning. "Get a hold of yourself and realize that girl was unstable, irrational and maniacal. Good riddance to bad rubbish."

The Wizard twitched his mustache at this and ignored Morrible as she stood up and pushed her chair in roughly. She tapped her toe with impatience; they had more important things to worry about.

"The longer you sit here and brood, the more time Miss Upland has. Need I remind you we just explained to her that the man she is now nursing in her tower is the same one we said was dead?"

"He was dead. You sent the order yourself to have him executed."

Morrible exhaled dramatically, frustrated. "And as I expressed earlier, Elphaba continues to be a thorn in our side, even in the afterlife. Only she possessed enough power to revive the deceased. It seemed she had one final, desperate stunt before sucking in her last deplorable breath."

The Wizard downed the last of his drink and slammed the empty glass onto the wood with impressive anger before he glared at her. Well, why couldn't she see this side of the Wizard more? She would like the feeble fool better overall, she imagined, as his slight outburst faded.

"After underestimating Elphaba so long, I don't completely trust your judgment in regards to the women's powers. Are you certain that Lady Glinda truly defeated the attacker? I wasn't aware she was so capable."

"Oh, I believe Miss Upland has become quite adept in the last few years. She knows much more than I ever taught her, and certainly whatever spell she used outside of the throne room was one of her own. I must keep a closer eye on her, especially after what happened a couple hours ago."

"She is going to be quite upset with us."

"Quite," Morrible agreed quietly. While Glinda had become stronger in the last few years and more confident, Morrible wasn't sure she had what it takes to truly give them a reason to worry in their throne room. She wasn't normally a religious woman, but she would pray to any god that Glinda wouldn't take up Elphaba's mantle and acquire that ludicrous chutzpah that her old schoolmate had. That would be something awful. "My dear, my dear— we have much to do. What instructions do you have for me? Moments ago, Miss Upland scheduled meetings with you for herself and for others, Oz knows why. The Governor's funeral is set to commence now that they have removed that house, and we still have to discuss what we shall do with Elphaba's death."

The Wizard sighed. "I shall see Miss Upland first thing in the morning; best not to keep her stewing. Delay the other meeting as long as possible, I wish not to speak to others. In regards to Elphaba's passing, let people continue to make merry. Later in the week we shall conclude celebrations."

Morrible turned to leave, but, door handle in hand, she remembered an important point she wanted to make, one of the primary reasons she interrupted the man's self-reproach in the first place.

"When you speak with Miss Upland tomorrow, ask her about the Grimmerie. Both it and the magical broom were missing from the Witch's grave, and she was the first official on the scene." Morrible tried to plaster a smile, as though she didn't know exactly which blonde bimbo in the vast Land of Oz took her treasured book, and growled through her gritted teeth, "Perhaps she knows to where they've disappeared."

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**Glinda? Know something? Psht, no, that's just crazy talk. ;)**

**I can't post another chapter until I finish the next one, which is almost done. Wanna help out a starving author? You know what to do!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey everyone. Sorry about the wait. Truth be told, I ended up taking out a detour in the story that I had been planning on writing for two years and it took me quite some time to figure out what I wanted to do instead then I had to get up the nerve to pick up writing this story again, which I hadn't worked on in a long time. I'm really glad I managed to find the motivation because I seriously missed you guys! I hope you like this. Enjoy.**

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Elphaba Thropp had not slept so well in a very, very, _very_ long time. Or, at any rate, she couldn't recall a time in the recent months she had been more fully unconscious, at least while she was in that state between sleep and wakefulness when mental competence left something to be desired. It was that state, when dreams were vivid beyond words and the body felt every ramification of the subconscious's wanderings, which the witch had experienced much more in her years in solitude.

So she laid still, her eyes still sealed shut against the world outside, and attempted to compel herself back to that rejuvenating slumber she was beginning to leave. After all, that condition had been dreamless up until the point she was at, which meant she had none of those agonizing visions of Fiyero's death. That alone was worth the sacrifice of the perplexing comfort she was experiencing in her partially awake phase.

It was no use, however. The pull farther from the delirium made her more and more aware of the soft pillows her face was buried in, the sensation under her fingertips, and the feeling of warmth she was enveloped in. It reminded her of days long ago that she would hide in her parents' bed just so she could smell their scents and make believe they were holding her. Eventually, she would be found, pulled by her arm and thrown from the bedroom onto the cold, wood floors of the family estate where she was then struck and scolded. But that flash of love and warmth she would imagine within those sheets had been worth all of the fear and pain.

Elphaba knew better than to believe that she was back at Colwen Grounds twenty years in the past, yet the feel of the fabric bunched in her clenching hands was so similar. Her father had told her once that Melena preferred luxurious sheets such as these, for no fewer thread count would have sufficed; Elphaba never forgot that, though it was such a silly thing to remember. The likeness of the bedding wasn't enough to convince her that she would wake to Frexspar's angry face or his raised hand, no— more likely, it would be to a Gale Forcer's bayonet. She felt her blood pressure intensify at the thought and she began to stir uncomfortably.

But if only, _if only_, this fantasy was true, and she was two years old: perhaps this would be the time her mother would finally express love to her eldest. After all, the more pregnant she became the more affectionate she was, even slightly more so to the outlandish green girl she birthed. Even a kiss from her mother would suffice, but Melena kept her distance due to some fear or hatred of the girl and her skin that Elphaba's childhood innocence never quite understood. It was only a color, there was nothing she could do about it and it would never go away, so why couldn't people – why couldn't her own _mother_ – look past it?

She felt fingers graze gently over her face and she turned into the hand, desperate for physical contact. How she yearned for it! How her heart leapt each time someone touched her in her life, from every hug she remembered so vividly through the years, for how few there were, and every time someone held her hand.

But this warmth on her face was unlike any other; the touch was so intimate and so rare that it could only belong to one person. Her eyelids fluttered open and she first saw a glint of gold. A cufflink. Her brow creased as she stared at it, realizing she hadn't seen one in years. No, that wasn't true, she realized: Fiyero wore one just like this before he escaped from the Emerald Palace with her. A smile graced her face and she allowed her hazel orbs to travel up the striking military uniform to her handsome lover. The swell of gratification was so intense she could barely contain the sob that accompanied it, but she bit her lip and took him in.

The pale light coming into the room made his features soft and flawless, his hair gleam golden, and his smile so mild. It was too majestic, was Elphaba's first thought; too idyllic. The bubble of emotion inside of her quickly transformed into one of anguish as she recollected the last times she was immersed in such a fanciful vision with him.

Brutally struck with the fear that the same fate would befall this moment with Fiyero as had happened before, she reached up and clutched him frantically, one hand gripping his wrist and the other crushing the shoulder of his jacket. Pulling herself off the bed slightly, she met his worried gaze with her own. While she was slightly soothed by the notion that she was feeling him under her tight fingers, Elphaba refused to be manipulated by some false impression. If he weren't really there, she wasn't sure if she could handle losing him another time.

"Don't leave me," she pleaded, her voice shockingly physically and emotionally weak. She readjusted her hand on his jacket so it wrapped around his strong neck and into his soft hair. "Please stay with me…"

"Elphaba, I'm not going anywhere," he answered, his tone confused. The hand she held so firmly turned so their fingers were folded together and he brought them to his lips to kiss her skin.

She didn't believe him and couldn't bring herself to let go and allow him to fall away from her in this perfect setting. The thudding of her heart was agonizing, and it suddenly occurred to her that never before in her visions had the pulsing ever been so painful before.

Nor had there ever been a petite blonde springing towards her.

"Elphie! Wake up, you're dreaming!" Glinda shrilled, landing next to her on the large mattress and somehow managing to agitate the stillness of the two larger adults with her light weight.

She shifted in shock at her best friend's appearance, sitting up so quickly that she collided heads with Fiyero and strained the sensitive muscles of her weak body simultaneously. Fiyero hardly flinched beyond the expression of surprise, but Elphaba had banged the healing scar on her forehead and soon her entire form was in pain again like it had been before she fell into her blissful slumber.

"I'm sorry, Elphie, I didn't mean to scare you. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Elphaba grumbled, pulling her hand from Fiyero's shoulder and putting it to her throbbing bruise over her brow. "And I'm quite certain I'm _not_ dreaming, for I'm pretty sure that wouldn't have hurt so much."

Glinda and Fiyero grinned, and Elphaba couldn't help but laugh a little at herself as well. She cringed slightly as she moved her injured leg, but before long she was sitting up against the pillows and was properly able to take in her surroundings.

She wasn't in Glinda's bedroom as she would have initially have thought. In fact, she had never before in her life seen the room she had been sleeping in before now: it was enormous and familiar in that it reminded her of the vastness and shape of Glinda's apartment, but instead of the creamy white furniture and pale pink walls, a half dozen different shades of earthy brown surrounded her. The furniture was a dark oak, including the magnificent four-poster bed they were all seated upon, the dark green curtains of which were neatly drawn to the hand-carved pillar. Elphaba's eyes traveled over the other handsome oak furnishings around the room, appreciating their beauty, until they fell upon the far brick wall where bookshelves as tall as the ceiling stretched a hundred feet or more along the rounded wall, framing what Elphaba could see was a grand, old desk.

"Where are we?"

"This is my guest bedroom," Glinda said, smiling, and she pointed upwards. "My quarters are just above."

"How long have I been out?"

"Nearly a whole day," Fiyero answered, and his voice – so real and rich – sent shivers down her spine. She avoided his powerful gaze.

"Fiyero carried you down here after you fell asleep yesterday on my sofa, and I'm surprised you didn't awaken. I had never seen you sleep so heavily."

True, she normally was a very fitful sleeper, but clearly she had needed the rest. A part of her took relief knowing that she had only slept a day; she felt as though she had been dead to the world far longer than that.

She turned back, taking in Glinda's exceptional beauty with a slight twinge of envy. The feeling quickly passed, and she remembered with amusement that the blonde's appearance wasn't wholly natural. An image (one she regretted to admit she had seen one too many times) came to mind of young Galinda waking up in their shared compartment at Shiz, her eyes puffy and her hair wild, a rather unpleasant look that took a long, hot bath and a few minutes at the vanity to fix.

Given that the Northern Witch appeared nearly perfect as she smiled at her friend, Elphaba concluded the woman had been awake for a long while. No doubt she was an extremely busy woman (with the Wizard needing someone with actual power to do everything for him and all, she thought cynically), but what new responsibilities was Glinda forced to have taken up due to the previous days' events? How much of a burden had Elphaba been, both in the public domain with her notorious ending as well as privately, where Glinda clearly went through much trouble to keep her safe and comfortable? She felt guilty.

In addition, despite their increased physical and emotional intimacy, she was still embarrassed by how much Fiyero had attended to her. He made it clear the day before in the bathroom that he intended to take care of her, but it wasn't something she was comfortable with yet (she wondered if she ever would be). After all, she had taken care of herself her entire life without any assistance.

He was insistent, however, especially when she nearly collapsed from fatigue upon leaving the bathroom. Following their heated and thrillifying…_conversation_…on the tile floor, she felt completely worn out, as though her time spent alone with Fiyero had drained her of energy she hadn't had in the first place. He caught her the second she began swaying and helped her to Glinda's plush couch, where she eventually conceded and allowed him to dress her in an old set of Glinda's sleepwear.

In order to make it less embarrassing as he removed her damp robe and carefully pulled on the soft pajamas, he quietly spoke to her. He reminded her seriously of how in love he was, which was becoming easier and easier for her to believe. The way he took her in with such awe as he disrobed her seemed to express much more than a physical desire for her, as though he couldn't believe she was here with him. All the same, he couldn't seem to control himself, since he allowed his fingertips to trail across her skin as he moved the fabric around, making her shiver with pleasure, and when he finally began fastening up the front of the nightshirt, his lips tenderly preceded every button. Her had eyes fluttered shut, all of her tension dissipated with each affectionate touch, and when his wonderful lips reached the delicate burn above her heart, he whispered against her skin a soft, "Thank you."

Even though by this time he had nearly lulled her to sleep, Elphaba comprehended that his murmur had so many meanings. He genuinely wanted to take care of her, and he seemed to realize the amount of trust she was placing in him to let him tend to her. She hated feeling vulnerable, but Elphaba was always safe in his arms. (Perhaps she was being naïve in that idea, but she didn't care.) She also could tell that Fiyero did not anticipate that she would allow him to touch her as he had been, especially because they were so exposed in the middle of Glinda's residence. Elphaba didn't understand why he was thanking her for that, however, as it was her whose feelings of bliss and security increased with every brush of his fingertips and smooth lips. Ultimately, he clearly felt indebted by the sacrifice that the lightning's disfigurement represented, though she would have done it again for nothing more than the opportunity to spend another minute with him.

Unable to resist him any longer, she had reached up and laced her fingers through his curls, keeping him from pulling away from her weary body. He complied easily, turning his face so her shoulder became his pillow, and taking her hint he carefully maneuvered from his kneeling position on the floor to lie next to her on Glinda's enormous couch. She had sighed in contentment when he wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her close to his bare torso, and fell from consciousness only moments later.

Elphaba stared over at her old roommate with sudden, uncontrollable guilt: Glinda would have come home to that intimate display. She, whether it was from fatigue or Fiyero's ability to limit her inhibitions, had forgotten about her friend and allowed the very thing she insisted on avoiding to happen. How wretched of a friend she was to do that to poor Glinda! Elphaba suddenly comprehended the undertone of Glinda's last utterance, of how she had seen Fiyero carry her to where she currently lay, and her heart pounded as she tried to imagine how her friend must feel. At Shiz, when she had to watch the university's most popular and perfect couple together, she felt the pangs of envy and sadness but it was controlled by her self-deprecation. After everything that occurred, how was it possible for Glinda to watch her ex-fiancé cuddle with her best friend on her very own living-room furniture?

Elphaba glanced harshly at Fiyero, vowing that the thoughtless romantic display would be her last around her friend. Now that she was more awake, she blamed Fiyero for having allowed such behavior to take place after she explicitly asked him not to.

A sudden, crucial realization struck her in that moment: any demonstrations of affection with Fiyero, whether with around Glinda or not, needed to be brought to a close. He was an Ozian royal, a former high-ranking military officer, and respected political representative that had, just days ago, been involved with Lady Glinda of the North, only to suddenly run off with Oz's most wanted fugitive. If he suddenly expressed interest in her, the nameless raven-haired woman staying with Lady Glinda, that could put everything they had accomplished in jeopardy.

A million questions filled her mind.

"Has Fiyero been pardoned? What have Morrible and the Wizard done about all of this? What did you say about the spectacle in the palace lobby yesterday? Do people believe you?"

"Of course they believe me," Glinda responded with a dismissive laugh and wave of her hand. "I held a last-minute press conference yesterday evening – without the approval or assistance of Morrible, of course – and told the people of Oz what you and I had discussed: that the attack on the palace yesterday was an obsessive Wicked Witch wannabe intent on abducting Fiyero."

"And they readily accepted that?" Elphaba asked, her disbelief lacing her voice. Even though she helped concoct the story, she had spent so long trying to get people to see her side of things that she had marked it as an impossible endeavor.

"Mostly. Fiyero's testimony, explaining the spell the Wicked Witch placed over him and the horrible things she put him through—" Fiyero's hand slid into hers, as if to show that whatever the two of them had experienced, he didn't believe any of it was horrible. She avoided his strong gaze and pulled her hand away from his, focusing on Glinda as she continued, "—was essential. He marvelously gained even more sympathy when he revealed what he had suffered at the hands of the Gale Forcers, even though the spell on him had already been broken. No doubt the people of Oz are looking at their Wizard and his press secretary with a little more uncertainty after what they did to their beloved captain."

"We think that I may be forgiven," Fiyero added with a shrug. "And the Wizard got himself into a pickle with my 'death,' so Glinda blackmailed him into officially absolving me of my treason. Look, it's all in the paper. Well, not the blackmail part…"

"You've missed a whole lot, Elphie," Glinda said matter-of-factly as Fiyero pulled away the morning's newspaper on the bedside table, revealing a bowl of fruit and a plate of bread and cheese that interested Elphaba much more than any newsprint could at that moment. No doubt, some of the things she had missed were a few meals, for she greedily reached for the bread and ripped a chunk from it with her teeth, not caring about manners as she satisfied her intense hunger. It took her a few more seconds and a couple more massive bites of the loaf before she paid attention to the story on the newspaper Fiyero held out in front of her, and she swallowed one of the bites with difficulty as she tried to process it.

Elphaba reached for an apple from the bowl of fruit and munched quietly on it while attentively examining the article. It explained how the Wicked Witch cast a spell the moment Fiyero arrived to arrest her, coercing him to threaten the Wizard of Oz and enabling an escape route from the palace. She had continued to overpower him with her black magic for days, making him a slave to her will, trapping his mind in a rebellious body. The Witch had barely managed to escape from the Gale Force's grip using him one last time, leaving him for dead in their angry hands. When the Witch's aspirant broke into the palace prison to finish her idol's work on the Vinkun prince, she fell into the midst of the Good Witch of the North, who banished the potentially murderous criminal and saved the innocent young captain from further torment…

"Elphie, trust me when I say I did not want to talk about you like that. If I had it my way I would have told that reporter every truth I contain about us, including that nothing about the Witch of the West was wicked except for that hideodious hat."

"A dastardly gift given by one who would prove herself a truest friend; how irony continues to mock us."

"I knew all along how great that hat would look on you," Glinda asserted with a wink.

It was with a roll of her eyes and a gentle smile that Elphaba looked on her friend, but the longer she stared at her and the handsome prince next to her the more the smile fell from her face and a swell of guilt replaced it. The years that the three of them had spent apart had affected them all greatly, and even through her weary eyes Elphaba could see it: the worry lines creased into Fiyero's handsome forehead, the crow's feet already beginning to form at the corner of Glinda's eyes. It wasn't that long ago Fiyero sloughed off any woes and cares that came to pass and Glinda participated in immature pranks in order to torment others. Now, so few years later, the prince was scarred from the persistent anxiety that had plagued him and Glinda's childlike eyes were framed with maturity beyond her years, caused by a responsibility for everyone else's emotional wellbeing.

Elphaba was aware that her wellbeing was included in that generalization, much to her agitation. She didn't want to be one more stress in Glinda's life, but at least the blonde was socially proficient enough that she was able to pretend that wasn't the case. She slid off the bed with an easy smile and her small body disappeared behind the footboard of the large bed, and Elphaba frowned as she listened to the curious rustling that took place beyond her vision. She glanced at Fiyero, who was craning his tall form to see over the edge of the bed, and wondered what Glinda was doing that had him grinning so.

After a few moments, Glinda popped back up and held up a small box with a soft, sad smile. "I just wish I had realized at the time that these had looked good on you too," she said, handing the box to Fiyero so he could give it to Elphaba. She took it carefully, not recognizing the case, but when she opened the lid she was dazed by the object within: her old glasses. She hadn't thought about them in a very, very long time.

"Where did you get these?" Elphaba asked quietly, handing Fiyero back the small wooden box as she looked over the eyeglasses in her hands. She had always just assumed they were lost; an aspect of Elphaba Thropp's past that disintegrated the moment her right to still be considered a Thropp ended. She used the soft material of the pajamas she was wearing to clean the lenses and she looked upon Glinda, awaiting the answer.

"We were roomies, remember?" Glinda said, her blue eyes practically sparkling as she watched her ex-green friend place the thin frames on her face. After spending her time in exile relying so heavily on her senses, she was surprised to remember how bad her eyesight was. It was with fascination that she took in the details around her she wouldn't have otherwise have noticed. "After you left it was up to your family to pick up your things. Your father never came; Nessa had said he had no desire for any of it. So I kept it all, unable to throw it away. I guess I had always known that one day I'd be able to return it to you."

Her stomach twisted upon mention of her father, no doubt fueled by the recent memories of longing she had just experienced in thinking back to her childhood. Even in the end, her father couldn't even pretend to care for his eldest daughter. She wondered if Frexspar even felt any sadness at the loss of his daughter; perhaps he finally felt justified in his hate when she rebelled against the Wizard and disappeared, leaving his precious Nessa all alone to fend for herself.

"_You fly around Oz trying rescue Animals that you've never even met and not once have you ever thought to use your powers to rescue me!" _

That utterance, in one of the final moments to pass between the estranged siblings, was one of pure resentment. And Elphaba knew it was well-deserved.

In one last attempt at redemption for leaving her sister, she did as Nessa wanted. But it was clear that her efforts were far too late, for her sister needed more than enchanted shoes. She needed her sister, yet Elphaba, in a moment of thoughtless selfishness, left her baby sister alone in a world that she had always been too sheltered and naïve to live in on her own. Elphaba had been responsible for protecting her. That made her responsible for her death.

She distracted herself from her remorseful thoughts by taking another large bite of apple and resuming her attention upon The Emerald Times she held. As she turned over the newsprint and saw what lay below the fold, she began choking on the half-eaten fruit in her mouth– her sister was there, frozen in time and printed in black and white next to a headline that read, "_Governess's short and vain career remembered_." Elphaba tried to dislodge the stubborn bit of apple in her throat, coughing roughly while Fiyero rubbed her back in an unhelpful and frustrating way. Glinda seemed to take Elphaba's moment of potential death to steal the paper back before she could continue to read it. Little did Glinda know, her friend had a vice grip on the newspaper and no amount of tugging would remove it from her grasp, so the paper tore, shredding Nessarose Thropp's tragically beautiful face in half so only one of her large, begging brown eyes stared up at her older sister.

"Elphie," the blonde begged, placing her hand on top of the article and forcing her recovering friend to meet her gaze. "Don't."

She couldn't place exactly about what Glinda said that upset her so much, or even if Glinda's effort to save her the pain of reading the article was what angered her, but she felt herself flaring up in response. She swallowed the remainder of the bite of apple and pushed Fiyero away; he slid off the bed but regained his balance before he toppled to the floor, and Elphaba took the chance to escape from the smothering atmosphere. Rolling herself to the side of the mattress and climbing off, she cursed aloud the moment her weight shifted to her bad leg and it gave out on her. Fiyero reached out to catch her but she didn't want his help; she knocked his arms away furiously and ignored his caring and concerned expression as she stumbled across the room to where an empty armchair invited her weak body to rest.

"Elphaba?" Fiyero questioned softly, causing her heart further pain. She couldn't bear to look into his wounded gaze. He would be better off realizing that this hurt was infinitesimal compared to what would inevitably befall him the longer he was near her.

"Just stay away from me," she ordered, holding out a hand between them to discourage his approach. With wide eyes, she looked down at the scrap of wrinkled newsprint she held in her grip, the partial photo in her palm a reminder that she was nothing but an earthquake in the lives of those she loved; an uncontrollable, violent force that toppled even the most beautiful, gentle beings of Oz into crushing, dark depths. "She didn't deserve this…"

"However you remember Nessa wasn't how she died," Glinda said, her pretty brow wrinkling as she stared at her friend. She attempted to move forward but Elphaba dissuaded her with a vicious glare. "She made a lot of bad choices that left Munchkinland in a level of shambles that won't be easily fixed. Her self-interests caused her to overlook the needs of an entire nation."

"So you're saying she earned this end?" Elphaba asked, her voice slightly hysterical as she pushed herself to an unsteady stance.

"No!" Glinda said hurriedly, shaking her head and holding up apologetic hands. "No, of course not!"

"Then what?" Elphaba challenged. "You were her friend, or was that an act too, just like everything else in your life?"

"Elphaba, calm down," Fiyero interjected in a strong voice, but neither he nor the tears filling Glinda's eyes were enough to stop the pain and guilt inside of her from washing over, filling her mind with a sickening fog. Elphaba moved out of the chair and in a swift movement pulled out one of the old, plain black dresses from the old truck Glinda had saved for her. Barely doing more than turning so her back was to them, she began undressing out of the too-small night clothes she had been in.

"What are you doing?" Glinda asked, her voice small.

"I'm going to say goodbye to my sister. Thanks to you, I never got the chance," Elphaba snapped. She felt guilty but she was also angry; no matter what generous things Glinda had done for her, it didn't change the past. Her sister was murdered, and when she had knelt by the crushed body and tried to express her sorrow, Glinda interrupted her and before she knew it they were having their petty fight. All along, Nessarose had been forgotten about, and no matter what Glinda thought of her Nessa deserved more than that.

"You can't leave," the Good Witch said as Elphaba continued to shamelessly dress in front of them. "It's not safe for you."

"I don't care."

"But I do!" Elphaba heard her own words returned to her but despite their attempt to discourage recklessness as they had in Glinda's and her previous conversation, it did nothing to restrain her ire. Her life in the past couple of years, the life that Glinda fearfully turned away from because of her own selfishness, was never safe from their last moment together in that Emerald Palace attic. She was tired of trying to be careful. After everything she had been subjected to because of frightened political leaders, couldn't she have the opportunity to deserve to be in danger? Her precious sister's funeral was a reasonable excuse for such unruliness.

She attempted to button up the back of the dress so she could sooner leave, but she couldn't reach the stubborn clasps. It was then that she noticed Fiyero behind her and his gentle, strong fingers finish the task, and she felt herself soften a bit at his presence; that is, until he gently and sensually stroked the sensitive skin of her neck under her loose hair, sending shivers down her spine that reignited her irritation. She spun in place and slapped his hands away, shooting him a fiery glare to remind him of the boundaries which she required, especially around Glinda, and once again he pouted in confusion and disappointment. He just didn't understand. Neither of them did.

"You cannot leave," Glinda said more forcefully this time, to which Elphaba couldn't help but laugh contemptuously.

"I _cannot_ leave?"

"As it is right now, you have no identity and people are only just accepting the Wicked Witch's death. If you leave this tower and people discoverate the actual truth, I cannot protect you anymore."

"I don't need your protection! I never have! My _sister_ needed your protection from Morrible but instead of helping her you simply used her death as a means to deceive and _finally_ capture me!"

Glinda's eyes welled up with tears as though Elphaba's words struck a painful chord. Good, thought Elphaba. She raised her head up in stubborn defiance and allowed Glinda to see she was impervious to the display of emotions. That only seemed to upset the smaller woman more. "I know you don't want to hear this but someone has to say it," Glinda said angrily, her tiny hands balling into fists. "You are out of control! Elphaba, you can't go on like this!"

"I can do anything I want! I am the _Wicked Witch of the West!_" she yelled, punctuating each word of the alliteration with a dramatic gesture. Glinda could argue outdated names all she wanted, but the despicable title and the reputation that went with it still revolved around one indisputably powerful person and regardless of Elphaba's skin color or reported condition that didn't change. Glinda would do well to remember that.

"Do you plan on so boldly admitting that to the Munchkinlanders who are bound to notice the only distraught and _barefoot_ person at Nessa's funeral?" Glinda called after her as she spun towards the large window behind her, which magically burst open before her. Elphaba chose to ignore her old friend and instead thought about the thin cloud cover that hung over the Emerald City that she could punch a hole through in hopes of finding an eastbound jet stream farther above. She summoned her broomstick to her as she stormed towards the fresh air just over the window ledge, and just as she caught it in her hand she heard Glinda shriek, "Fiyero, don't let her leave!"

Elphaba couldn't help but simper as Fiyero stepped in her way, even when he held his hands up cautiously between them. "Fiyero dear, I love you, but do you truly think you could stop me?"

"I don't want to," he said to her, but considering he would move neither his body nor his relentlessly beautiful gaze away from her, she knew he would try if he needed to. And it was only then, as he blocked her path and nonverbally pleaded with her, that she realized that her grasp on reality was faltering. The point Glinda made next only made her feel worse.

"Elphaba, you say you love him, so realize that his fate is now tied to yours! He would be implicated the moment you reveal yourself. Not to mention _my_ loyalty to Oz would be in question…"

Elphaba stopped listening and instead contemplated the undeniable logic Glinda presented, all the while never removing her eyes from Fiyero. Their deceptions were weak at this point in time, precariously balanced upon the trust and naivety of the citizens of Oz, and her arrogance and impulsiveness could be the catalyst to make it all topple. Once that happened, neither witch would be able to protect Fiyero from the charges of treason that would befall him. The idea of him back in that cell or worse, murdered at the hands of the Wizard's army, was not something she would risk happening just so she could mourn over her sister's empty, broken shell of a body.

Scenes of brutality, of Fiyero dead or bleeding, flashed uninhibited in her mind and for a moment she wanted nothing more than to feel him under her trembling hands so she could be convinced of his wholeness, but she had given up on the gratification of selfishness years before. And so she removed her darkened, unreadable gaze from her lover and acted as hard as she could, lest her desire be as obvious as she imagined it was. Could he see how strongly she was fighting the draw to him, staying just out of arms reach so she wouldn't fall into his comforting arms and forget their troubles?

She wondered if he knew how much it pained her to act so cold towards him. It was practically a bodily pain and it wasn't the first time in the last few hours she wondered if the lightening strike that briefly connected their physical hearts affected her physiology in more intense ways. The farther she tried to stay away from him the more miserable she was, as though she was a solitary electron needing its counterpart, and if she would only give into the pull and close the distance his touch would be like a spark, pleasurable and addicting, leaving her enlivened with renewed energy and yearning.

She wasn't sure how normal these experiences were. Before Fiyero she had not kissed a man, let alone made love to one. She had never needed anyone before. Now she needed someone more than she could withstand, and it terrified her.

Glinda's heels were muffled in the expensive carpeting, so Elphaba hadn't noticed her approach from behind until her manicured fingers wrapped over the thin, roughened ones she had clenched around her broom shaft. She turned her head to look down at the pleading blue eyes so close to her own that she could see the details within them. "Just give me some more time," Glinda asked her, her voice soft and desperate. "Please."

Breathing heavily through her nose, Elphaba raised her head stubbornly for she hated conceding defeat. "Fine," she said anyway. Her heart felt heavy and guilt-ridden for she was unable to release Nessa's memory from her mind, but it seemed as though she had no other choice. Weeks ago she would have limitless choices for she was responsible for nothing and no one but herself, but now she had obligations to Fiyero. And despite the negative implication, she couldn't help but feel a small swell of affection as she took him in, knowing the prince could hardly be considered a burden. If he was, he was certainly a lovely one.

Her heightened senses picked up the sound of footfalls on the stone stairway outside the deceptively accessible quarters and it was with a raised eyebrow that she looked down at Glinda. "Someone's coming."

"Oh please Elphie, that's such a terrible trick. I won't fall for it."

Elphaba's other eyebrow rose to meet its mate and could have laughed at Glinda if the situation had not just been so solemn, even as the Gilikinese woman gripped her hand and the wooden broomstick tighter. "It's no trick. Go see for yourself."

Glinda narrowed her eyes distrustfully and clearly realized she couldn't walk away while Elphaba still had her means of escape In hand. She used both arms to tug at the broom, but just to make things difficult Elphaba refused to release her hold, and so they had a childish contest of tug-of-war until the taller woman meanly released the broom, thus effectively causing tiny, glamorous Glinda to stumble ungracefully backward. Even though Glinda won their previous argument and now held her cherished flying broom, Elphaba had the satisfaction of watching Glinda stomp away with grumpiness.

When Glinda yanked open the front door, everyone but Elphaba seemed to be surprised at what lay on the other side of it. This included the young palace guard who stood just outside, nearly fumbled the keys he was clutching, and seemed to shrink in the Good Witch's sudden presence.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to prepare the room for your guests," the young soldier said nervously.

"But my guests are here," Glinda said. The young man barely spared Elphaba a glance, even when Glinda gestured to where she and Fiyero stood, and she would wonder if she would ever get used to not being obnoxiously conspicuous.

"Your other guests, madam. The ones that are on their way up now."

"I don't care if the Wizard of Oz himself wanted entrance! You know I do not allow anyone up here without my expressed permission!"

"They demanded this room made ready for them immediately and wouldn't take no for an answer."

"And so you just let them up?"

"They were quite scary, madam," the guard admitted sheepishly.

Glinda looked ready to stomp her feet from agitation and just as she shrilled, "I don't know why I don't have you transferred to the stables!" Fiyero pleasantly inquired over her, "Who are these people?"

The teenager was about to answer when he was interrupted by a booming voice reverberating around the stone behind him. "Get back down here boy! Are you going to make us carry these bags all the way up this ridiculous staircase?"

"Did I just hear my baby! Oh let me through!"

"Oh no," Glinda whimpered, sending a frantic look to her two mystified best friends and dancing around fretfully on her toes. Then, the guard cleared his throat and announced solemnly, "May I present Sir and Lady Upland…of the Upper Uplands."


	19. Chapter 19

**Greetings! I apologize for the long delay. I was finishing up my last semester in college then this summer has been crazy. Still, I hadn't forgotten about this story and it kills me that I became one of those writers who just seems to up and leave a popular story most of the way through it. It's not the case; the writing is simply becoming more challenging as I get closer to the end. But because you've all been so wonderful and patient, I didn't break up this chapter at all so you have a nice, long, drama-filled update. I hope it's worth the wait.**

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Ever since the moment Fiyero met Elphaba under the sparkling lights at the Ozdust, he found himself fascinated by her eyes. Sure, her skin caught his attention first and he found it exotic and unique and beautiful, but it was her intense and mysterious gaze that _kept_ his attention.

It wasn't until later that week that first he saw her outside in the daylight, and as the warm sun engulfed her and reflected off her emerald skin he first saw the green within her irises. When they ran off into the woods near Shiz together that one fateful afternoon, he became captivated with the shades of brown he saw within them. Years beyond that time of innocence and ignorance, when he lay with Elphaba by the light of the moon and stars and woke the next morning to her beautiful face soaked in sunlight, he was convinced he finally knew her gaze, despite its complexity. It was ever changing and ever deepening, something he had never seen in Glinda's shallow sapphire-blue stare or in any other Ozian before her, and it made him even more hopelessly in love with her.

He remembered how her enchanting lips curled up at him confidently and wily before he had surprised her with her first kiss back in that forest clearing all those days ago; he had gently caressed that mouth with his own before pulling away to see her reaction. Those eyes had widened and she had reached up to touch her slightly parted lips with her fingertips, tragically unused to the feeling of even the simplest of kisses. Then she smiled – a sweet, shy smile – and replicated his action onto him, and thus began an evening of teaching and learning.

It would have been impossible for him to separate the thoughts of Elphaba from the Wicked Witch of the West that night. He wondered if anyone else in Oz could have imagined that the woman they feared above all others possessed insecurity or hesitancy, which was something he noticed when he unhooked her cloak and lowered her to lie upon it. She was trembling and her fingers had dug into his shoulders nervously, but despite this it was she who continued their urgent kissing and encouraged him further. When the moment of truth finally arrived, her dark eyes – the ones that perhaps haunted so many people's nightmares – were black with desire and her body was flushed with heat, and to know that he was the one who ignited these reactions in her made him feel more powerful than anyone else in Oz.

It wasn't until he blocked her path as she prepared to escape Glinda's tower that he realized that there was still so much that even he hadn't been fortunate enough to learn about her yet. The dreary sunlight poured over his shoulders, no longer obstructed by glass, and lit up Elphaba's face; it was then that Fiyero saw the misty blue color in his lover's eyes that probably never existed next to her old pigmentation. It was like the Vinkus River on a cloudy summer day, when the glimmer of green and other aspects of life just glimmered under the surface and the rippling of the water reflected the dreariness of the world overhead.

In that moment more than any other, Elphaba become truly exposed to him because he saw in her eyes all of her frailty and vulnerability. It made his heart ache to see this woman who was stronger and braver than any other in Oz look so beaten. Glinda had told him when Elphaba first escaped that she had sworn that no one would ever bring her down, but clearly that hadn't been true. Years of solitude and tragedy, of scrounging food from the refuse of others or ripping up roots just to stay nourished, and of relentless vilification had slowly weakened her and the trauma of the last few days had finally begun to make her fall into herself, a place he did not want her to retreat.

On the surface, with her pale eyes under her thin glasses and her fair skin contrasted against her plain dress, she would seem to others like such a regular person, but just as he never thought her to be wicked he wasn't foolish enough to underestimate her because of this discouraging veneer. She was still Elphaba—stubborn, brilliant, lonely Elphaba. Nevertheless, it suddenly became difficult for him to believe that this woman, with her slumped shoulders and weary expression, used to be the Wicked Witch of Oz. He would have reached out his hand to her had he not feared the Witch returning and her unnatural, wrathful gaze condemning him for the gesture. But she didn't know how easily he could see the turmoil within her, or how much it hurt him to stand within arm's reach of her and not be allowed to touch her.

Just before she had fallen asleep the day earlier she had been so affectionate with him and when she had woken up she had virtually thrown herself at him, pleading for him desperately. But since then she had been all but snarling at his every move and sound, and was continually pushing him away both physically as well as figuratively. He understood very well the stress she was under, yet her cold behavior towards him and him alone was confusing and exhausting.

For years whenever Glinda was aggravated with him he never pushed the issue, for it hardly mattered to him. But he was finally where he wanted to be and yet something was terribly wrong, and that willful woman he had fallen in love with was avoiding him like the plague. Who would ever have thought that the mindless and carefree prince would ever be beset with troubles like this, that a woman's denial of attention or affection would leave him woeful and eager to pursue a confrontation? He was impatient to challenge her about her wishy-washy behavior but the arrival of someone at the door curbed any chance he had.

At that point, Fiyero almost had no choice but to ignore Elphaba in return. Glinda had begun to throw a fit about the incompetence of her security as the young man at the door announced the arrival of unexpected company, which was a big no-no in Glinda's book. She always needed to be prepared.

"Who are these people?" he called over Glinda's melodramatic tantrum to the tense young guard at the door.

He was surprised he was even able to hear what the young man replied, considering the loud voices that echoed into the wide room from the stone stairway and Glinda's worried squealing: "May I present Sir and Lady Upland, of the Upper Uplands."

In case they didn't have enough problems, whatever higher power was out there seemed to feel the need to send them another and it entered in the form of Glinda's high-maintenance parents. He had met them a small handful of times since he began dating their daughter and he knew that Highmuster and Larena Upland were not the sort of people who made life easy on anyone. He blamed their sense of superiority and their high standards, which were common characteristics in those so wealthy. It was only due to his lackadaisical nature and his humbling experiences in the Gale Force and with Elphaba that he felt completely exempt from being the same way.

Fiyero was always taken aback to see Larena Upland, especially when she was in the company of her pretty daughter, for it was as though he was seeing what Glinda would be like if she were only twenty years older. Larena was just as petite and dazzling (especially considering her dress, hands and throat sparkled with various glittering beads and jewels). The woman's long, luxurious blonde locks were pinned up classily but some loose strands fell from the pins, creating an odd sense of imperfection that no Upland woman would allow should she know about it. Her bright eyes and perfect smile seemed to catch every lay of light in a room, and just like Glinda would she often giggled stridently when excited; this he knew because she had quickly taken a liking to him upon their first meeting and shared her daughter's infatuation. Fortunately for him, Larena's concentration and eager embrace was settled solely upon Glinda at this time.

Highmuster, on the other hand, never let himself overlook the opportunity to intimidate the young prince, and judging by the dark-blue stare that was already fixated on him, this day was going to be no different. No such behavior was necessary however as the man had the ideal advantage: He was at least two heads taller than his wife and daughter and was as wide as they were both together. His completely bald head seemed to be filled with veins that popped out at the mere sight of Fiyero, and his bushy mustache had always managed to twitch grumpily whenever his small eyes focused on the alleged playboy.

Fiyero was never sure what he had done to fall into disfavor with the giant of a man or if Highmuster's disapproval was an instinctive reaction in defense of his daughter, whom he absolutely adored. Nevertheless, Highmuster's intense scrutiny always put Fiyero in a mood. For this reason, he was grateful when Glinda voiced the question he was seconds from rudely asking himself: "Momsie, Pops! What are you doing here?"

By this time the guard that had previously been the source of Glinda's ire was completely forgotten about, as her wide eyes were now staring at her father over her mother's shoulder. Fiyero walked over and took over for the wiry young man, who had been trying to move the suitcases that were nearly half of his size and weight. The poor lad smiled gratefully to his former captain and gladly took his leave. As Fiyero moved the bags aside, he could sense Highmuster's beady gaze finally leave him.

"We came to surprise you, darling!" the man boomed, pulling tiny Glinda against his lapel into what Fiyero imagined must have been a painful hug.

"And you have!" she squeaked.

Larena clicked disapprovingly as she looked over the small woman who, to Fiyero, seemed to be turning the color of a Quadling in her father's tight embrace. "Oh sweetheart, I appreciate that you tried to make the place presentable for us, but that broom you're holding is just hideodeous! Please, _please _put that tacky thing away."

The prince's eyebrow shot up as the woman ignorantly called the Wicked Witch of the West's magical broomstick "tacky". It was too difficult to resist the temptation to glance at Elphaba. She was standing with her arms crossed protectively and timidly in front of her chest, her expression hard and drained as she watched Glinda receive the spoils of familial love and warmth that she herself was unfamiliar with. Fiyero began feel sympathy for her until she noticed his attention and sent him an annoyed look that was becoming all too common this afternoon.

Sulking, he turned back just as Glinda managed to slip out from under her father's large arms and carry the knotty, ruffled broom to a closet, muttering "Of course, Momsie" as she did so.

Larena smiled that beautiful smile of hers and she turned her attractive features on him. "Oh Fiyero, it's so wonderful to see you!"

"Heh," Fiyero coughed uncomfortably, unsure of what to do as she hugged him enthusiastically. He was painfully aware of how inappropriate this was given the context but with no other responses ready he said uncertainly, "And you as well?"

"We were so pleased to hear about the engagement!" Larena said, stepping away to pinch his cheek affectionately. "The moment we saw the headline we knew we had to congratulote you both in person!"

"Engagement?" he said stupidly. Clearly the Uplands hadn't learned about their nearly immediate breakup following their engagement a couple weeks before, and given how Highmuster was currently cracking his huge knuckles, Fiyero would have rather have jumped out of Elphaba's open window without a broom or bubble than be the one to tell them. He sent a flustered look to Glinda. The socialite was experiencing a rare moment of wordlessness, torn between her different personas, and he would have given anything for her to snap out of it and help him. Fiyero opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, swallowing heavily between breaths, unsure of what to say.

Thankfully, Glinda finally came to her senses. "Have you been travelling this whole time?" she asked her parents sweetly. "Just to congratulote us? That's so good of you!"

"We were going to get in a few days ago but all of this rain made travelling via carriage a nightmare," Highmuster complained gruffly.

"You should have taken the train, Popsie, it's much faster."

"The train?" Larena said to her, gesturing her hand towards Glinda as if to brush off the absurd suggestion. "It's so _public!_ Don't be absurd, darling." She swept gracefully over to one of the chairs in the large apartment's lounge area near the door, dropping into it with an exaggerated exhaustion. "As if the carriage ride wasn't bad enough, we were forced to stay in second-rate hotel rooms more than once because the roads were practically impassible! You couldn't imagine a worse traveling experience! And oh, the last three days in particular have been so _terrible_—"

Elphaba snorted boorishly at the woman's last comment and Fiyero struggled to not snicker in appreciation. He had a feeling that, given the proper perspective – one in which Elphaba would have been glad to provide no doubt – the Uplands would realize that their damp journey south would have seemed like an absolutely lovely vacation.

It seemed as though Larena had only just noticed Elphaba for the first time, and her eyes flashed tetchily over to her. Fiyero didn't miss the subtle sneer on Larena's pretty mouth as she scanned over the stranger. Fiyero followed her gaze and could imagine all of the things that well-bred, high-society mind was noticing and judging, to his aggravation: the tangles Elphaba had in that gorgeous hair, the dark circles under her eyes, the stubborn dirt under her life-worn fingernails, the threads that stuck out from the old seams of the fading black dress that hung loosely from her underfed body, and the feet that were as bare as the day she was born.

He looked back at Larena, glad that he was no longer the recipient of Elphaba's frosty, dark glare, and to his wonder saw that she was sitting up in her seat with an air of fascination.

He was absolutely certain he'd never understand women, he decided.

"I don't believe we have properly met," Larena said to Elphaba. "Who, may I ask, are you?"

"This is Elphie!"

"Elphie? Elphie who?"

He and Elphaba both gave Glinda a fixed stare, knowing that she was about to reveal more than she should. Clearly the pressure of her parents' presence was getting to her, for she said, "Thropp, my old roommate!"

Fiyero let out a breath he was holding, annoyed, and turned his attention over to Elphaba only to see her toss her eyeglasses onto the bed and pinch the bridge of her nose before she returned the look exasperatedly. It was the first time she had met his eyes since her near-breakdown about Nessarose not long before.

Unexpectedly, he found that his frustration grew when he felt his heart leap from even the scrap of attention she was giving him. Grinding his teeth together, he turned away, tired of whatever game she had been playing with his feelings and mind since she had awoken that morning, and if not for his anger being so strong he might have felt some shame when he noticed Elphaba's posture wilt slightly in his peripheral. As it were, he only felt pleasure that she might receive a taste of the apathy she was inflicting upon him.

He pulled his focus completely away from the woman who could make him feel both so wonderful and so lousy when Glinda's father began muttering her name, saying, "Thropp… Where have I heard that before?" and her mother started gushing, "Oh, you mentioned her in your first letter home! I was so thrillified to hear about your schooling that I framed it!"

"You _framed_ her letter?" Fiyero deadpanned. He figured it out a second after Glinda glared at him that he sounded very disrespectful, but frankly he didn't care anymore. Even if the Uplands were listening to someone other than themselves at that moment, he neither needed their approval anymore nor wanted them here.

Highmuster was running a finger over his full mustache in deep thought. "Thropp…Thropp…"

"If I think for a moment I'm sure that I'll be able to remember what you wrote in that darling letter…"

"Thropp…I know I've heard that name recently…" Was anyone else but Fiyero concerned that the very large man was nearing very bad conclusions?

"Oh yes, now I remember what you said about Miss Thropp! _'Unusually and exceedingly peculiar and all together quite impossible to describe'_! That just tickled me!"

"Don't be silly, I don't recall saying that," Glinda said with an uneasy chuckle.

"'Exceedingly peculiar'?" Elphaba repeated angrily. "What a kind description, thank you Glinda."

"It was before I knew you well!" she said defensively.

"I'm sure it was."

"It's not like it was particularly unkind…or untrue," was the hasty retort, to which Elphaba rolled her eyes.

"Ladies! Please!" Fiyero interjected, his head beginning to pound painfully from the ridiculousness of this entire situation.

"Thropp! Now I remember!" Highmuster announced suddenly, drawing everyone's attention. "That's that crazy governing family in Munchkinland! I only just overheard two days ago from that one gossipy fellow with the hat about how that negligent Thropp girl was flattened in some freak accident! She had a house dropped on her, if you can believe that!"

Fiyero groaned, putting a hand to his aching head. He heard Elphaba suck in a sharp breath through clenched teeth and he was sure that they were all about to be obliterated in some sort of impending supernatural conniption, but then Glinda stepped over to Elphaba, placing one of her dainty hands on the taller woman's shoulder calmingly. She faced her parents, her arm sliding down to the crook of Elphaba's elbow.

"I suppose this is as good of time as any to mention to you that you are in the presence of Elphaba Thropp, the Eminent Thropp of Munchkinland."

A horrible silence filled the room. Afraid to look up, Fiyero began playing with the cuff of his pressed sleeve as if he found it fascinating.

"Surely this isn't right," Highmuster said, and Fiyero peeked up to see him holding out one of his hands that were nearly the size of a dinner plate. "There were only two Thropp children, and the other one was a criminal."

"Not just any criminal," Elphaba pressed nastily, daring him to say it. She looked so frightening then, half-cast in silhouette: The light from outside was refracting through the open emerald window panes, sharpening her features in a green glow, and her scarred brow was pulled low over her nearly black eyes. Her thin hands were clenched angrily at her sides and the soft breeze from outside was causing her dark waves around her shoulders eerily.

Larena sucked in a painfully noisy gasp, pulling him from his entrancement, and sprung up from that sofa faster than Fiyero would have anticipated her dress would have permitted. "No, it can't be!"

"It can," Elphaba confirmed sinisterly.

As much as he loved Glinda, her parents were as small-minded and brainwashed as most of Oz, sensitive to even the most absurd rumors but stubborn against the truth. And unlike himself and his ex-fiancée, Elphaba did not seem to find these people intimidating by any means. From the moment they walked in she seemed utterly irritated (well, more so). And he could see Elphaba's frustration with them rising up and a glint of something too complicated for him to understand in her eyes. Something triggered within her and – perhaps with the intention of scaring them like they expected – she swept around a chair in the direction of Larena and Highmuster.

To him, she could have been moving in honey for how slow and muted her movements seemed, and he could feel the rush of a hundred thoughts in his mind despite the fact that time did not actually slow down. Despite their numbers, the thoughts were so lucid and uncharacteristic he was hyperaware of their existence: Without her green skin, he wondered, would the Uplands – who had already begun to recoil at her movements – still imagine strangeness in her features? What empty-headed rumors were they clinging to as they avoided looking into her attractive eyes? Did they even see that she was just a girl their daughter's age; that she never asked for this life? Would they even wonder why she was standing in the North Tower in the first place, or why she was safe in Glinda the Good and the Captain of the Guard's presences?

Were they even _capable_ of critical thinking or had that ability been inhibited by society?

It was if he could hear Elphaba's voice in his head, encouraging his thoughts. It was startling and affecting. And given that her strides toward the Uplands were foolhardy, it was as if imagining her voice in his mind was like a cry out for him to act as her conscience. He would not let her ruin her future any more than the Wizard already had. So he stepped in her path and waited for her wrath.

"Get out of my way Fiyero," she said to him, his hands stinging as she slapped them away. He considered taking her attack as he had been doing since she awoke that morning, but despite his strong sympathy he was tired of how she kept fighting him_. _As she made to shove him away again he caught her thin wrists in a strong grip that no doubt must have been painful. Apparently that action was unexpected enough that it shocked some clarity back into her angry face and, to his surprise, she stopped struggling. He immediately released his tight grip and her hands fell forward on his chest and she grimaced as if she was fighting nausea, or, more likely, that magic he had seen her cast in fits of uncontrollable anger.

As her heavy breaths hit his shirt, he began to realize that all she had meant to do was stand eye-to-eye to the Uplands, to give them the chance to see her without her skin and without her conical hat—as a _person_. But her reputation was far stronger than her outward appearance ever had been and Fiyero knew she was wasting her time. And just as he expected, the Uplands staggered back as if she were clawing at him to get to them.

"Keep that terror away from me!" Glinda's mother cried and Fiyero turned his head to see her stumble back behind her large husband, pointing a quavering finger at Elphaba as she did so. He turned his gaze back as Elphaba frowned despairingly, her cheeks flushed with heat. He wilted a little at the hate as well. How did Elphaba stand the constant and unearned hatred like she did? He could barely stomach it. "I will _not_ be some new victim she can hurt!"

"Galinda, what is the meaning of this menace in your home? This evil should be effectively eliminated!"

"You fools!" Elphaba snarled over Fiyero's shoulder, and he countered her surprising strength as she thrust forward towards the Uplands, no doubt triggered by Highmuster's use of "evil". Elphaba had told him in the forest how much she despised the word and being called it, for now it reminded her of the Wizard and "his perpetuation of the segregation of moral identities despite his admitted understanding of its ambiguity", as she had put it. He understood, for each lie he put up with since her rebellion so long ago felt like a shard of glass in his back. "You don't know _anything_!"

"She's mad, I say!"

But then the loud sound of hollow metal rapping on the door broke the intensity, and it was clearly more than the tension-filled Glinda could stand. "What NOW?" her penetrating voice shrieked so loud that Fiyero cringed. The tiny witch stomped over to the front door and her wide-eyed parents must followed her movements, for he felt the rigidity in Elphaba's body dissipate and she sagged further into his uniformed chest, surreptitiously allowing him to support her as she caught her breath. He was so moved by the unexpected display of weakness and trust that his hands slid behind her and held her against him until the moment she pushed herself away to watch Glinda yank open the front door.

The same guard from before was standing on the threshold and Glinda started to turn her favorite color pink in her agitation. "_What_ _are you doing_ _here_?"

"I'm sorry, milady! There was a request to see you immediately!"

"Now _really_ isn't a good time."

"There certainly couldn't be a worse time," Fiyero muttered and Glinda turned her head only enough to glare at the prince.

"They're already here—"

"They're _what?_ Young man, did I not _just_ tell you _no more guests_ without my permission? Oooh! You…you…! Ooh, I can't even think of a fitting punishment for you!"

"I'm sorry! It's just she started crying and I didn't know what to do—"

"Glinda!" a familiar voice cried, and unexpectedly a form about as small as the Gillikinese woman burst forth from behind the soldier and wrapped itself around Glinda's glamorous dress. "Oh Glinda!"

"Dorothy?" Glinda asked questioningly, placing a hand on back of the braided head in front of her face. "Aren't you supposed to be with the Wizard?"

"W-we just came from there and now—" The teenager burst into sobs on Glinda's frilly shoulder and she patted her on the back uneasily.

Fiyero was amazed that Elphaba resisted calling for a show of hands of who was surprised by the girl's disappointment.

"Dorothy dear, what happened?"

"The Wizard..." Dorothy sniffled as she stepped away and looked up at the Good Witch with glassy brown eyes. "The Wizard…!" She then began sobbing into her hands and Glinda led her inside by the elbow.

"Oh, come in, come in!"

"Don't let them inside!" Elphaba demanded forcefully, pointing to tinny and furry creatures in Dorothy's wake. The former had that stupid lovesick expression as he stared at Glinda that gave Fiyero déjà vu and the latter was practically chewing on the end of his tail in nervousness.

"I'm sorry gentlemen, but this is a private meeting," Glinda said pleasantly to them, holding out a hand to keep them from finishing their steps forward into the space. The girl's small black dog managed to sneak in underneath them all and to Fiyero's amusement made a beeline straight for Larena, who had to pull up the hem of her dress to keep the dog from ruining it. The Tin Man only had a chance to loosen his metal jaw to speak before Glinda smiled and snapped the door shut.

She guided their newest guest further in the room. "Dorothy, tell us what happened with the Wizard."

Dorothy's lip quivered and to Fiyero's dismay she seemed to barely contain loud sobs. "He-he insulted us a-and told us he wouldn't help us unless we found a book that the Wicked Witch of the West stole from him! Oh Glinda, what am I supposed to do? I don't know how we could find something like that! What if he doesn't even help us? He was so horrible—"

After a particularly loud sniffle, Dorothy's tear-stained face turned and lit up at the sight of the younger couple in the room. "Fae! Fiyero!" she exclaimed brightly. "Oh, I never thought I'd see you again!"

"'_Fae'_?" Fiyero repeated out of the corner of his mouth to Elphaba. She only rolled her eyes and elbowed him, as if telling him to drop it. But he was confused; how did the little girl who was fresh to Oz ever meet Elphaba and how did she know her as _Fae_, the resistance nickname that she allowed him to use intimately with her?

Before he realized what happened, Dorothy crossed the room and enveloped them both in a hug. Fiyero was barely able to contain a grunt as Dorothy collided with his healing abdomen and held his breath to resist groaning, first in pain and second when Dorothy began to weep noisily into their clothing.

To his surprise, Elphaba did not shun the girl away as he expected but rather reached up and rubbed her hand gently and consolingly on the girl's back, showing an innate gentleness that he first experienced in the forest outside Shiz. At her touch, Dorothy slid away from him and wrapped herself fully around Elphaba's midsection, and it seemed everyone in the room watched as Elphaba held the girl more tightly to her, a focused expression on her otherwise unreadable face.

Elphaba wanted to tell her that it was okay to be afraid. Fear was natural, acceptable, expected; in her opinion, it was even something valuable, for there comes a point of desolation in a person when they leave fear behind and live solely on nerves and cold calculations. Perhaps some would desire that condition, but Elphaba knew from experience that it left a void inside, like part of her humanity was gone forever.

She never got the chance to tell Dorothy that, however. While Elphaba had done her best to ignore Larena since Dorothy's arrival, it wasn't easy considering she was obviously nearing the brink of a hysterical tantrum judging by her deepening shades of pink. The only things that seemed to have restrained her were propriety and the distraction that was Toto at her feet. Apparently, even those things weren't enough: "Child, _don't you know who that is you're holding_? That's the _Wicked Witch of the West_!"

Elphaba cringed, her insides boiling reactively. For just a moment in her miserable life she had an admirer without conditions, which was something all of the Uplands seemed to take for granted, and yet Glinda's parents took that away from her without even a hint of regret. The anger swelling up once again in her gut was wrenching and stimulating, but if there was one thing Elphaba had to learn to suppress over the years it was her endless hatred. Clearly Larena took that for granted as well, for if Elphaba were in her shoes, she would not have pissed off the infamous and dangerous sorceress in the room.

Despite her fury, it was with dismay that Elphaba turned her eyes downward onto the girl who had been so abruptly informed of the disheartening and alarming truth. She had no idea what reaction would come from the child, who Elphaba knew had heard rumors of the Wicked Witch but only experienced her as the mysterious but protective Fae. She was one of only a couple of people in all of Oz who had accepted her and appreciated her as something else but a witch and yet she stepped away cautiously, staring at the woman with new eyes.

"Is…is that true?"

Everyone's focus was on Elphaba at that moment and she stiffened at the silence and apprehension in the room. Her eyes moved from Dorothy in front of her, whose naivety made her the perfect target for Morrible's propaganda but whose affection made her question it, to Fiyero, who would suffer more than she would with every new person who knew the truth about them, and finally to Glinda, whose face gave her no indication of what she should do next.

"Yes, it's true," she said reluctantly, directing her words only to Dorothy despite everyone's intense attention. She felt her heart breaking, having not realized until this moment how much she cared about the young farm girl who inadvertently killed her sister or how much she needed her faith. Why must the most important insights come at the most inopportune times?

"No," Dorothy said, shaking her head in disbelief. "That can't be." She spun to face Glinda, a pout firmly in place. "You told me that bad witches are ugly!"

Elphaba scowled darkly at Glinda at this latest insult, who decided to handle pulling her foot out of her mouth this time as diplomatically as she could: "Now Elphie, I only said that because you just stole my fiancé and I was upset—"

"_WHAT_?" Highmuster boomed from where he stood practically forgotten, and Elphaba's eyes rolled up to the plastered ceilings with absolute despair at the added dimension to their overly complicated situation. "Galinda, explain this!"

Glinda seemed to ignore her reactive parents in favor of the more pressing matter of Dorothy Gale, who had picked up her dog and clutched him securely to her chest, her face filled with hurt and betrayal. "You did that to the Tin Man…"

"And you killed my sister," Elphaba rejoined coldly, successfully stalling Dorothy's aggrieved stance and distracting her with the feelings of guilt she struggled with every day. "We have both been the cause of bad things, but that didn't mean we wanted them to happen like that." Elphaba remembered in the forest when Dorothy listened to her every word as if it was the sanity Oz lacked; she would give anything just to have the girl believe her once again. "I just wanted to help him, but maybe he would have been happier with the alternative of death."

"What a wicked thing to say!"

"I don't have the _luxury_ of being able to say pleasant things anymore! People like _you_ have taken that away from me, so I'm left only with the truth!" Elphaba said back to Larena, her voice trembling with annoyance. She looked back down at poor, confused Dorothy and knew she was only about to befuddle the child more. "There is a lot of truth I have not told you Dorothy, but I never lied."

"You said the Wizard would help me."

"I said I _hoped_ he could help you. The Wizard is not from Oz, just like you aren't, and because of that I thought you stood a chance with him. But despite his impressive façade, he is just a man; clever, yes, but powerless."

"What is that book he wants— the one he said you took from him? _Do_ you have it? Will he be able to send me home if I give it to him?"

"The Grimmerie is here. The Wizard cannot read it and he cannot use it. He is nothing more than a charming charlatan hiding behind his guards and his stupid mechanical head."

"How _dare _you talk about His Ozness that way!" Highmuster boomed. "That is sacrilege!"

"Will you just _shut up_ about what you don't know?" Elphaba snapped. "Sweet Oz!"

"Galinda, are you just going to stand there and allow this freak to treat us like this? I demand you have them leave our suite immediately!"

"My name is _Glinda_ now, Popsie!" Glinda corrected sternly, her voice startlingly strong. "And that 'freak' is my friend! I'll have you know that she is welcome here in _my _guest quarters, where _you_ have shown up unannounced! You _really_ should have written ahead."

"So you are going to kick us out on the street to make room for this criminal and your adulterous fiancé?"

"I will find a room for you in the palace!" she shrilled, a lock of her perfect hair falling from under her tiara as she stamped her foot crossly. "But you can't leave until I can be sure you will keep Elphaba's secret!"

"Glinda, this is outrageous! Oz's Most Wanted is _in_ the Emerald Palace and you want us to play dumb?"

"Shouldn't be too hard for you," Elphaba said dryly, and Highmuster had to restrain the tiny Larena from leaping at the witch sparkling-claws first. It was so absurd and reminiscent of Glinda that Elphaba actually cackled as she watched the older woman struggle toward her. Glinda wrinkled her perfect skin with a glower at this, and Elphaba let her smile fall with a roll of her eyes and attempted to redirect the conversation back to where it was most needed. "Glinda, where is the Grimmerie now?"

"I put it with your things over here." She spared her mom and dad one last look before she shuffled across to the trunk at the foot of the four-poster bed, against which Elphaba's shoulder bag was placed out of sight. She bent over and dug through the bag, asking as she did so, "But Elphie, what do you think we should d—"

She stopped then and when she didn't stand up right away with the book in hand Elphaba became concerned. Did something happen to the Grimmerie? That was the bag that she carried any material possession she felt was worth keeping close to her in the past few years, which meant it held very little. She couldn't fathom what Glinda could have found in there that would render her speechless. She slowly walked around so the trunk no longer blocked her view and asked down to the crouched blonde, "Glinda, what is it?"

Elphaba's proximity seemed to have startled her and sprung to her feet. The Grimmerie, whole and seemingly unmarred, was held tight to her jeweled, corseted chest by one petite arm while the other whipped behind her back. Elphaba could only get Glinda's wide eyes to connect with her own for only a moment before the blue darted away and her brow pulled down low over them, her mind drifting far away in thought.

"Glinda, what—"

"My Oz," Glinda muttered, and Elphaba tried peeking around her to see what she was hiding. Despite her distraction, Glinda managed to step away and keep Elphaba's probing eyes from whatever it was she had – which was probably something of Elphaba's, but what the witch couldn't fathom. At a loss, Elphaba watched as the lean muscles in her arm tensed as she moved whatever she found around in her lithe fingers behind her dress. "Everything makes sense now…"

"What does?" Elphaba asked. "Tell me!"

She opened her perfectly stained lips then as though she would, but then Glinda's expression hardened and she looked right at her friend, her gaze unusually strong and unwavering. "Elphie, do you trust me?"

"Why—"

"_Do you trust me?"_

"I…"

Even Dorothy and the Uplands were staring at her with an intense, unwavering attention, causing an unyielding pressure. She wished she understood the context, for she had no idea how to respond. _Did_ she trust Glinda? The moment she first saw young Galinda so long ago she felt instantaneous contempt, and it would turn out that contempt was well-deserved. It wasn't until the popular girl displayed the most public act of juvenile cruelty that they were first exposed to one another, despite their close proximity as roommates. In the Emerald City the first time around, Glinda let her disappear into the wind and took advantage of her friend's downfall to finally receive the attention she always wanted, then for years was a figurehead for a people hell-bent on capturing and killing her. Glinda then led the Wizard and Morrible to her sister, who was now dead, and from there Fiyero died and, as strange as it was, so did Elphaba. So how could she possibly answer this question rationally?

Without a good answer, she spoke from her heart, as she often foolhardily did: "Yes, I trust you. Completely."

"Then you must never ask me about what I'm about to do. I'm off to see the Wizard."

"Right _now?_" Elphaba asked, bewildered. "You can't leave now!"

Glinda handed Elphaba the book, her pretty eyes meeting her friend's apologetically. Dorothy stepped forward meekly. "Are you going to take me with you?"

"No Dorothy, you need to stay here with Elphaba and Fiyero. You'll be safe with them."

"_Safe_?" Larena screeched. "What about _us?_ Are _we_ supposed to be safe with this _terrorist_?"

Once again the Uplands were ignored. Elphaba shifted the large hardcover under an arm and grabbed Glinda's thin elbow in a tight grip to keep her still. "You won't let them leave and you won't let me, but I really suggest you change your mind on at least one of those decisions."

Glinda slipped out of the taller girl's grasp, shook her head and made for the door, moving the hand she had been hiding around her body as she walked so it stayed out of sight even with Elphaba right on her heels. "I'm sorry Elphie," she said over her shoulder. "I'll be back soon."

And with a snap of the door in her face, Elphaba was left alone in one of the Emerald City's tallest towers with a lover she was forsaking and three individuals who recently learned she was the most hated person in Oz. It was like the abuse at Shiz all over again.


	20. Chapter 20

**For those who were wondering what Glinda found in the last chapter but refused to show Elphaba, here you go. I didn't want to keep you waiting too long to find out. :) Enjoy! And don't forget to review! :D**

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Elphaba was going to kill her for leaving her with her parents, Glinda thought as she glided across the courtyard toward the Wizard's throne room. Ironically, her parents weren't going to be in any real danger in the Wicked Witch's presence, but since her father and mother were a high-ranking Gillikinese soldier and high-strung socialite respectively, she couldn't say the same thing for Elphaba or Fiyero. As Glinda imagined it, she left behind a Winkie standoff that would only end once the willpower and relative civility of either stubborn party was abandoned. And poor, poor Dorothy! The child had enough problems.

But what she realized changed everything. It couldn't wait, no matter how unhappy her parents were, how agitated Elphaba was or how lovelorn her fiancé – _ex-fiancé,_ she corrected herself sadly – was in their present company. They would deal and she knew she was absolutely doing the right thing.

The guards to the Wizard's throne room didn't even hesitate to open the doors or try to speak to her when they saw the Good Witch storm toward them, and for once she didn't even pause to thank them. Perhaps the strong anger she was feeling deep down was showing on her normally pleasant face and those scared guards did not want to risk directing it at them. Maybe they could see how both of her hands were clenched into fists, one of which was gripping a mysterious green object that was undoubtedly for the Wizard's eyes only. She could feel their stares following her down the hallway until the large doors banged shut once more, sealing her into this area of charades.

The walk down the corridor was long but it was one she had traveled countless times in the last couple of years. The sound of her heels clacking and echoing in the chamber gave her something else to focus on besides all of the stresses in her life that would only make her complexion worse if she continued to think about them: her failed engagement, how much Elphaba's ostracism had changed her since their days at school, her parents ill-timed visit and subsequent disappointment in her, how Dorothy was most likely permanently stranded in Oz and, of course, that darned guard who kept letting people up into her tower!

She felt ill-prepared for it all. Glinda always preferred the trivial things in life if only because they were easier. She was only beginning to understand that ignoring the hard stuff only made things more difficult later on. It hurt her heart to think about everything Fiyero told her yesterday, including how he was done living the one-dimensional life and he knew she was tired of it too. If _only_ she had given up on those petty pleasures a little bit sooner, perhaps he would have loved her more and then maybe, just maybe, he would have chosen to be with her in the end.

She truly loved him so much. Whether she was _in love_ she wasn't sure, and that seemed to be the sort of thing that a girl like her should know. The last few days she spent a great deal of time ruminating her experiences with Fiyero and comparing them to the great loves she read about in literature or Ozmopolitan, wondering if what she experienced was a romance worthy of retelling or if it was only one of convenience and comfort. Still, she had been delighted at the idea of marrying him, not just because of his title or attractiveness or reputation, but because she couldn't imagine her life without him. He was her anchor of reality in a world of polish and lies.

In some ways, his betrayal hurt even more because he chose someone for whom she also cared deeply. It meant that she shouldn't hate him so much. To make it even more challenging and confusifying for her, while Glinda had the world, what did Elphie have? As much as it made her heart ache to accept, Elphie needed him more than she did.

All she ever wanted for Elphaba was to be loved, for she knew how wonderful being popular and appreciated could be. She took for granted her own beauty, not realizing until after she saw how others treated Elphaba why life was so much easier for her. It changed her perspective and made her appreciate how hard Elphaba had worked at Shiz, since she was obviously not as attractive as Glinda, to be recognized for things she deserved. Unfortunately, it also caused Glinda to question the love people had for her, for what had she ever done in her life to be given so much? Nothing. Nothing but ride on the Elphie's coattails with the willingness to constantly lie and use her bright smile for personal gain.

Watching Elphie struggle the last few days made her think deeply about the unfulfilled life she chose to have and of all the mistakes she had made to keep it. She may have been called Glinda the Good but she knew she wasn't truly doing much of that. It seemed that out of the two of them, it was the one labeled "Wicked" who was the only one actively trying to make good. In contrast, she chose to point and call names at the best friend she had ever had just so she could finally have and keep her fame.

But what really upset Glinda most of all at the moment was how the Wizard – who claimed to be a "good" man – could have let so many bad things happen: to her, to Fiyero, to Nessarose, to innocent Dorothy, and most importantly to Elphaba, who had adored him so!

Elphaba was always skilled at pretending she didn't care about things but Glinda knew better, even before she learned Elphaba's most precious secret following the dance at the Ozdust. She held back tears as she gripped the cold glass object tighter in her hand, hoping that Elphaba would never figure out the truth about it as she had. Despite her resilience, Glinda knew deep down this was the kind of thing that not even Elphie could handle. So, Glinda decided, she would handle it for her.

She could hear the Wizard's unusual accent and Morrible's screechy voice mixing and alternating from halfway down the lengthy hall. It seemed that they were boorishly discussing their most recent appointment (or so Glinda assumed, having heard the words "heart" and "courage" thrown around like they were ridiculous things), apparently uncaring that they had let the young farm girl leave them in utter despair.

Glinda stepped from the shadows as quietly as her heels would allow and waited to be noticed. She was close enough to the throne that she could see Morrible's thinning hairline and the crisp lines of the Wizard's velvet suit but not too close for fear that they would sense her nerves.

It was Morrible who saw her first.

"Ah! Glinda! I thought you would be out festivating the recovery of your fiancé and the melting of your rival!" Morrible crooned cheerfully. Her lingering pleasure following Dorothy's traumatizing visit was palpable, and if not for Glinda's self-discipline she might have said something unmannerly.

In the last few days more than ever, it had been hard enough not to give them a piece of her mind regarding Elphaba. It was thanks to Morrible's and the Wizard's greed, after all, that Elphaba Thropp hadn't lived a proper life since the day the two young women first stepped foot in here. She spent years sleeping in the dirt amongst the insects with no one to love her but Animals, who were also suffering from continually worsening hygiene. The very thought was enough to make Glinda shudder with rage and digustification.

She gladly disregarded Morrible's attention in favor of the Wizard's. She held out the bottle she held for him to see, pinched between her thumb and forefinger.

"This was Elphaba's," she told him, her voice shaking as much as her outstretched hand as she spoke.

The Wizard's white smile fell behind his mustache and he slowly sat up in his chair. "What's that you say?"

"It's a keepsake. It was her mother's, she told me so herself. I've only seen another green bottle like this one other time, right here. _You_ offered me a drink from it."

Glinda may have been pretentious but she was no fool, and she knew the Wizard was no different. She knew he would understand as she did that if Elphaba and he both owned one of these rare bottles it was no mere coincidence. She felt her chin tremble as she watched the old man approach, waited for him to take the bottle from her and figure out the truth that it held: that he was responsible for the death of his own child.

"This…was her mother's?" he said weakly, pointing to it. His eyes – which she noticed for the first time resembled Elphaba's – were wide and frightened like a little boy's as they moved from it to Glinda, who simply nodded. Her expression was as remorseless as she felt, even when he took the bottle and stumbled slightly, a hand reaching into his coat pocket to pull out its identical twin. She could see the tears filling his eyes and hear emotion crack at his voice as he said, "Oh, my lord— I am a sentimental man, who always longed to be_…a father_…"

And all Elphaba wanted was someone to love her and accept her as a father should. Yet now he was reaping what he had sown when he had allowed a youthful, optimistic young girl become a fragile shell of her former self when he could have embraced her as the daughter she truly was. And now – as far as he knew – it was too late.

She let him sob and fall devastrated to the floor, even as Morrible's screech filled the room. "So that's it! That's why she had such power! She was a child of both worlds!"

Glinda, her hands clasped behind her, continued to watch the man as he mourned at her feet. It hadn't been enough for him that the innocent villain he had created had died tragically; in his selfishness, the only thing that made him lament for any of his evils was that he had fathered that girl. It reinforced her vehemence and she spoke down to him with the dominance she now knew she inarguably possessed, "I want you to leave Oz. I will make the pronouncement myself: that the strains of Wizardship have been too much and you are taking an indefinite leave of absence. Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes…" he murmured thickly as tears rolled down his beet-red cheeks and past his large collar. He rose unsteadily to his feet, his head still bowed in the shame he deserved. "…Your Goodness."

With that final acknowledgment of her title, she decided end this display of emotion before he dribbled saliva on her new shoes. "You'd better go get your balloon ready." She watched him go, a feeling of strength filling her in a way she had never experienced before because it was never something she had properly earned. She used it to project her voice: "GUARDS!"

"Glinda dear…" Madame Morrible began meekly as the soldiers she passed on her way in bounded down the corridor toward them in haste. "I know we've had our miniscule differentiations in the past…"

Glinda's veins pumped with power at this, for it was clear Morrible understood: with the Wizard gone, it was Glinda who stepped into his place. What provided her the most personal pleasure was that Morrible had arranged for it; while the woman could not take the throne herself, she had obviously unwisely trusted that Glinda was just a small-minded, easily manipulated rich girl who could be her puppet. But Glinda wasn't just a pretty face.

"Madame, have you ever considered how you'd fare? In captivity?"

"What? I don't—"

"Cap-tiv-i-ty! Prison! Personally, I don't think you'd hold up very well." It was with great satisfaction that Glinda then used the press secretary's own words against her: "'My personal _opinion_ is that you do not have what it takes_._ I hope you prove me wrong; I doubt you will.' Guards! Take her away!"

Glinda could feel the adrenaline pumping within her long after the guards carried Morrible off and her screams faded away, but when the high finally ended her heart continued to race. The weight of what she just did was not lost on her and she was more scared than she ever had been before.

All of her life the Wizard was there, running the country. Even now she couldn't imagine an Oz without him. But thanks to her that was now a reality, and even more frightening was that the honorary title she had been given meant that she was left Oz and all of its problems. She turned her head and stared at the throne with wide eyes, wondering where she would possibly start. At the moment, she couldn't even handle the people she left in her tower—

Oh no, Glinda thought with a gasp, having almost completely forgotten about the mess she left behind in her guest bedroom. As much as she was afraid of the responsibility of Oz, she was willing to try to live up to her name and make some good in it however she could, but everything she had just done would be completely in vain if things got too out of her control at home. She sprinted out of the throne room as fast as her heels and skirt would allow and made for the North Tower, hoping that she wasn't too late.


	21. Chapter 21

**Happy Festivus, everyone! I apologize for keeping you waiting. I finally gave up on wanting it to be perfect and waiting 'til I had the time to obsess properly over it and decided to give you all a present to stick under your aluminum poles. Seinfeld joke aside, I hope you enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think! **

* * *

Fiyero was getting a bit stir-crazy. He wasn't the only one suffering from this kind of crazy at the moment, and there were certainly a bunch of other crazies being expressed in the room that he wasn't sure how to identify, but he was sure he was the only one getting really bored with it all.

In the first few tense minutes following Glinda's abrupt exit, Fiyero grabbed the bowl of fruit that had originally been meant for Elphaba's breakfast and brought it over to the coffee table in case munching on grapes would be enough to distract everyone from the inevitable impending blow-up. Dorothy had timidly taken a seat on one of the plush sofas but Highmuster, Larena and Elphaba were all too wound up to leave their feet. Something about his short trip around the living area to retrieve the fruit bowl reminded Highmuster of his hate for the prince and before long Fiyero was getting hollered at for his infidelity, which prompted Larena to do the same to Elphaba. Since no one cared to hear Fiyero's side of things, he simply sat down next to Dorothy and accepted the stream of inappropriate Gillikese swears and curses. Then somehow, before long, it was Highmuster and Elphaba who were yelling at one another…about _politics_.

And that's when Fiyero's attention began to divert, as years in school had trained it to do. He knew the situation began with Highmuster once again reproaching Elphaba for her criticism and opposition of the Wizard (Fiyero wished someone _did _care to ask his opinion for once, for he would have told Highmuster what a stupid idea that was), who had given his daughter _so_ _much_. As expected, Elphaba responded compulsively and before Fiyero knew it he had stopped listening.

He grabbed an apple and bit in, wishing with all his might that the tart fruit's crunchiness would be enough to drown out the shouting match taking place feet in front of him. It wasn't. Curious as to how Dorothy was handling all of the drama, he glanced at her only to notice that in the last couple of minutes she somehow managed to slide down the cushions until she was seated _right_ next to the prince, her big brown eyes and her pink cheeks aimed right up at him.

Any other man might have squirmed from discomfort at the intensity of her attention, but he smiled reflexively. "So Dorothy…that's a strange name."

"Not in Kansas," she responded eagerly, evidently glad he was speaking with her again. "You see, our president's name is Theodore, which my teacher says means 'Gift of God'—"

"'President?'"

"The leader of our nation," she said. "Like our king! Well anyway, _Dorothy_ is sort of a backward _Theodore_. The-o-dore, Dor-o-thy…get it? Well my teacher didn't think so he looked it up and it means 'Goddess of Gifts'…"

Elphaba would have found all of this stuff interesting, Fiyero considered distractedly, his eyes finding the subject of his thoughts. Even though she was angrier than a spitting Cat as she argued with the hulking man in front of her, she looked so beautiful with her eyes alight and color flushing her newly fair skin. Even when her voice became rough with emotion it was like music in his ears. He remembered when they were in the forest all that time ago and she just wouldn't _be quiet_ how he kept thinking to himself how lovely she was, even with her rambling…

"Are you and Fae gonna get married?"

"Huh?" he asked, turning back to a slightly dejected-looking Dorothy. "Married? Us? No! Yes? I don't know..."

"Once again you can't seem to make up your mind."

Fiyero chuckled self-depreciatingly and nodded. "You're quite right. It's just…" He sighed and ran a hand through his soft hair, unsure if he should even say what was troubling him. The girl scooted even closer to him and put a hand on his arm, urging him to continue. After a second's hesitation he gave in, needing to talk about it with someone – anyone – since he obviously couldn't with Elphaba or Glinda. "I want to be with her, I do! It's like whenever I'm around her everything's exactly how it should be and I'm right where supposed to be. I just don't know what _she_ wants anymore. First she tells me she's in love with me and is begging me not to leave her, then before I know it she's pushing me away like she can't stand me to be near. I know she's going through this identity crisis but what if she comes out of it and realizes she _doesn't_ love me? I don't know what I'd do."

He looked down at his confidant and experienced a jolt of embarrassment, for it occurred to him that he had just confessed all of his internal turmoil to someone who was barely a teenager and had a growing crush on him. She patted his arm consolingly, and as carefully as he could he pulled it from her hands and sat back into the cushions, tossing the apple aside with disinterest and watching Elphaba forlornly as she continued to quarrel with the beastly Gillikinese man.

He wondered if he should jump in and defend her or break up the fight or something like that, but he knew he'd risk getting roped into the fight again or having Elphaba be even angrier at him and he had no way of productively dealing with either outcome. So he just watched warily. At the moment, it just seemed like two drunken men pushing on each other: no harm was _truly_ being done. …Or so he hoped.

"Even that girl's dog can _communicate_!" Highmuster was saying. "It barks and yaps and understands human words! That doesn't mean it should get a seat at the dinner table!"

"It is not simply Animals' ability to speak that grants them superiority that is equal to humans!" Elphaba retorted while Highmuster scoffed rudely. "It's their comprehension and integration of _culture_! Don't you see? You can teach an animal basic communication but it can't pass it on to subsequent generations, nor can it engage in a debate with it such as this! Culture utilizes _language _and _ideas_ that simple animals cannot comprehend, while Animals use them richly!"

"Then explain how an Animal can lose the ability to speak or think as the Wizard has proved with his Banns, if you're so smart!"

"Humans are no different! I'd like to see you suffer from isolation and discrimination for as long as they have and see how you fair in society!"

"I wish it had such an impact upon you!" Highmuster responded cruelly.

Fiyero was glad he decided to pay attention when he did because the look that filled Elphaba's face at that was murderous. He leapt to his feet just in time to grab her around the middle and restrain her from attacking him. Well, physically, at least.

"You're a close-minded, egocentric ignoramus and it's because of people like _you_ that I speak out for those who can't or won't!" she shouted, jabbing her finger right at the man as if she could stab him with it. Fiyero could feel the heat of her body and the strength of her muscles through her thin dress as she struggled against him, and for fear she would wiggle free he pulled her tighter against him. She responded by jutting an elbow into his sore torso and roughly shoving him away, her fierce gaze now locked on him. "And it is because of _you_ that I _can't!_ Ugh!"

She threw her hands in the air and spun away, and Fiyero was so stunned by her words that he paid no heed to the pain her bony elbow had caused him as she began to pace. "What? How could you say that?"

"'Ignoramus'? I am a Shiz-educated man!"

"Before I cast that spell I was a _symbol_!" Elphaba said to Fiyero. "I gave those Animals hope and now they don't even recognize me! They think I'm _dead_! Now what hope do they have left?"

"Elphaba, think about what you're saying," he begged.

"And you!" Highmuster continued, clearly oblivious to the other growing dispute in front of him. "You didn't even _finish_ school! How dare you call us _ignorami!"_

Elphaba's fists were clenched as she growled, "It's _ignoramuses_, idiot!"

"_What is going on in here_?" Glinda's voice asked from the doorway, and they all ceased their bickering long enough to stare in stunned silence at the front door, unaware that the Good Witch had managed to sneak through it. But then, as quickly as it stopped it resumed; Glinda's parents and Elphaba all began to point fingers and complain about each other to her rapidly, creating a din that didn't process in Fiyero's mind.

Part of him was grateful that Glinda had finally returned to manage everything, for suddenly he felt absolutely worthless. Elphaba's words to him kept repeating in his head and no matter what he did he could not get any other meaning from them besides absolute resentment. She regretted saving him, for in that moment choosing him meant that she gave up on everything else she believed in. He thought about how he had given up years of his life so he could find her and how he had literally given up everything he had for her once he did; all the while, she had been out trying to stand up for something greater than herself or him. She never asked him for anything, yet he ended up taking everything she had.

Just before she passed out last night she expressed her love for him, but since then she had been displaying these other emotions that he hadn't recognized before now: bitterness and shame, for her brief romantic fling with him had blinded her to the world she loved and now it was too late. He contemplated whether her affection last night was the last lingering sentiments she experienced in a delusional stupor, or if the passion in her gaze when she awoke was a spark of some insanity he brought about by his thoughtless sacrifice.

"_Shhhhh!"_ Glinda shushed them abruptly, her petite hands flying up from her sides. Fiyero pulled himself from the miserable muck that had become his mind and looked at her sullenly, not really expecting the young socialite to look so crazed. He frowned even more. Something obviously had her shaken and it was willing to bank it wasn't just this situation. "I don't want to hear it anymore! The Wizard is _gone_!"

The room became quiet once more at her outburst but this time it wasn't temporary; he could see the color drain from Elphaba's face as she muttered a barely audible _"What…?"_

Fiyero's brows remained furrowed, confident he had misunderstood. The Wizard was gone? Was he kidnapped? Had he magically vanished as Elphaba had done to herself earlier? Or did she mean…

"He's chosen to leave Oz for good, Morrible has been imprisoned, and I'm in line to inherit Oz! So let me make it clear that whatever it is you're fighting about is _not_ more important than _this_!" As she spoke, her voice had become increasingly hysterical and by the time she was finished it was so high-pitched that the dog in Dorothy's lap whimpered. She put her hands against the blush rising in her cheeks and took a steadying breath. "And Popsie, you _know_ better than to discuss religion or politics amidst company! Ohh, what am I going to do…?"

"What happened?"

Elphaba's question was one Fiyero wanted to know himself. With each long second that passed following Glinda's announcement, the weight of it sunk in more heavily and questions compounded in his mind: What could make the greedy Wizard up and leave so quickly? How could Morrible be arrested? With His Ozness gone and his right-hand witch thrown in jail, what did that mean for them? Did Glinda know when she went down there such a short time ago that she'd come up with the power to control Oz?

"It doesn't matter," she answered hastily. She flapped her hands to fan herself before she used one of them to point at Elphaba reproachfully. "And you promised me you wouldn't ask!"

"No I didn't," Elphaba impatiently reminded her. "Tell me, Glinda!"

Glinda acted like she hadn't heard her as she continued to compose herself. After about her fourth heavy breath she met Elphaba's gaze unwaveringly with an intensity he rarely had ever seen before from her. "Elphie, I know you think you need to leave, but I want you to stay and help me."

Glinda's request seemed to hit her like a punch to the gut, knocking the air right out of her. To the Uplands, they acted more like it had been a slap to the face. Fiyero didn't know how he felt as the Good Witch stepped forward and took Elphaba's hands in her own. "I...I don't _need_ you to stay; I want you to know that. But imagine what we could do _together._ Together, we're unlimited!"

Fiyero could tell that the words Glinda used were not arbitrary, for they were said with a heavy weight and caused Elphaba's features to harden solemnly. Fiyero couldn't deliberate more on their subtext as he was still reeling from the onslaught of news. He couldn't decide: Was Glinda's request lunacy or genius? Or maybe a whole lot of both?

Apparently Larena was partly on the same page as him. "Galinda, darling, have you misplaced your mind?" She waved cursorily at Elphaba as she critically added, "You're asking the _Wicked Witch_ to help you _rule Oz?_"

"If it wasn't for Elphaba I wouldn't be here!" Glinda said, letting go of Elphaba's hands – which immediately wrapped insecurely around her thin torso – so she could gesture emphatically upon facing her mother. "I owe her everything!"

"I wouldn't be here either," Dorothy piped up. Fiyero peered over his shoulder, taken aback by unexpected gratitude from the strange girl. Judging by how her eyes flashed around the room, Fiyero guessed all three Uplands were gaping at her too. She explained earnestly, "She saved my life!"

He turned back to look at Elphaba. For whatever reason she did the same, and as they stared at one another Fiyero didn't care that she was sorry she gave up her life for his. He would always be grateful to her, for everything they had together, and she had to know that.

"And she saved mine."

Elphaba's lip trembled and her brows curled down over her striking eyes. But other than a heavy sniffle, she remained distant. Her focus shifted away from him and she shook her head as if to rid herself of whatever thoughts he created in her. "You don't want me, Glinda. I'm nobody."

"Elphie, don't be silly! You're the Eminent Thropp!"

Elphaba sighed. "That was Nessa's job."

"It was always your birthright," Glinda said flatly. "Now that your sister is dead it is once again your responsibility to lead."

"I'm not suited to govern anyone, not even myself, it seems." Elphaba's long fingers came to rub her eyes and Fiyero guessed there was a growing pain behind them, judging by the tension under the skin near her healing scar. When she pulled them away, her expression was sharp and cynical and directed at Glinda. "So what do you expect me to do? Fly on over there and announce I'm finally ready to inherit Colwen Grounds?"

"Of course not!"

"Then what do you expect? I'm limited! Just _look_ at me— I'm limited!" She motioned to herself, a vertical wave of her hand to indicate her whole being, before she gestured to Glinda in her immaculate dress and makeup— a picture of perfection. "And just look at you, you can do all I couldn't do."

"That's not true. Things can be different! We can finally make them the way we want them to be. Oz will look to me to lead it but you can be my advisor— my 'Grand Vizier', like the Wizard wanted you to be for himself. I'll give you a new name and we can finally make our lives together like we thought we would! We'll cut your hair, change your wardrobe – that's a given – work on your mannerisms, whatever it takes. No one will know!"

"Glinda…"

She didn't give Elphaba another chance to protest. She turned to her parents, her pleading eyes not those of a child like she normally used in their presence but that of a woman. "Momsie…I had hoped you might let her use the good name Arduenna."

"You must be joking," Larena said, a short laugh escaping her. When Glinda's expression did not change, the woman's face fell with discomfort.

Glinda stepped forward and took her mother's bejeweled hands into her own. "You used to say, 'People come into our lives for a reason, bringing something we must learn, and we are lead to those who help us most to grow if we let them and we help them in return.' Well, I don't know if I believe that's true, but I know I'm who I am today because of her."

Fiyero watched as Larena softened at this and he was reminded exactly why Glinda was given the title of Good Witch of the North. She had an incredible skill for influence that not only affected large populations but also even the closest of individuals, and he could see her power at work over the older woman. Her mother squeezed her daughter's fingers affectionately, proudly, but Fiyero knew Glinda had yet to let out the breath she was holding, not daring to assume it had worked yet.

"Well, none of us ever found out what happened to my brother after he went on that mission to Ix after college," Larena began thoughtfully. "Hypothetically…she _could_ be his child, as far as anyone would know, which would make her an Arduenna..."

Glinda squealed a little, jumping a little in place as her mother began to sway her way. Larena's gaze once more scanned over Elphaba, who looked like a spooked cat at the strange attention. "And she does have the height of a Gilikinese... Of course, she couldn't go out in public looking like _that_, not if she would be _my _kin…"

His pulse was racing as Glinda's mother's objections faded into assistance, knowing that without this last obstacle that was the Uplands Elphaba could finally have a chance to live a proper life. With Elphaba witness to how Glinda was able to convince others of her value, no doubt she would realize that Glinda's outrageous idea might just work.

Looking at her, despite the underlying feelings of dejection she had instilled in him, he started to envision a life here together here in the Emerald City, with Elphaba in the role she was meant for: of her inspiring the political leaders across Oz with her passion, intelligence, and fierce love for Oz; of kids and small Animals playing fearlessly together near their feet while she and he held hands at his favorite café, sipping spiced hot beverages and discussing the mundane; of Elphaba at his side when he takes up his mantle in the Vinkus in due course, supporting him as a leader as he had supported her; of children of their own; of growing old together.

As of this moment, it all seemed obtainable. They could have that life together if only Elphaba said yes.

"Larena, be reasonable!" Highmuster interjected, stressed. Fiyero glowered, knowing that with his wife's support and Glinda's polished pout Highmuster would end up giving in, but hating that the man was still fighting this inevitability."You can't honestly be considering this?"

"Darling, I don't like this girl or this plan any more than you do," Larena pacified. "But she's obviously important to Galinda—"

"This Witch is important to her _fiancé_ too, or have you forgotten that?"

"Fiyero broke things off with me before he left with Elphaba," Glinda responded miserably. Seeing her like that made Fiyero feel like Glikkun dung, especially because it was in front of her parents, whom she had always tried to please. Out of the corner of his eye, Elphaba was focused intently on the carpet fibers at their feet. "We are no longer together, but it is _my _choice that he is here with me now. We are going to work on our relationship as long as he and Elphaba are in my life and I won't have you sticking your nose into that matter anymore. I want them here."

"Galinda, think about what you're asking of your mother. Of me! To have us lie for you like this!"

"Listen to your father Glinda," Elphaba said, her voice low. As soon as she started to speak, Fiyero could see Glinda's father ready to rage at her, but her support clearly shocked him wordless. It shocked Fiyero too, if only because there wasn't even the slightest hint of the fight that he had always associated with her. "I've put you all through enough. I won't let you risk yourself or your family any more than I already have. I shouldn't even be here."

"Elphie, of course you should. This is your home."

Whether she meant the space in which they stood, which Glinda had painstakingly decorated with her best friend in mind, or herself and Fiyero, who were now Elphaba's only loved ones, he didn't know. But he could see she was fighting a losing battle, especially as Elphaba – her skin so ashen she looked ill – began faltering backwards towards the closet Glinda had used earlier.

"No, Glinda. No more dreams of grandeur. It's too late."

"Elphie—"

But she had already grabbed her broom from the closet and was making for the open window.

The prince often acted thoughtlessly and now was no different: he pushed past Highmuster and ran around to thwart her escape once more. He grabbed her by the arm and spun her around to face him.

She avoided his eyes, instead looking behind him at their audience. "Get out of my way Fiyero."

He should have been pushing her away, indignant because of her rejection, but instead he risked a step closer to her. He loosened his hand around her upper arm until it was but a gentle touch. She wasn't fighting him this time but even if she did he didn't want to hurt her. Well, anymore than he already had, anyway.

His eyes searched hers, trying to find answers to questions he didn't know how to pose in present company. How was it that she couldn't see all the things he saw for them? How could she see flying houses from across Oz but not see all the good that still existed for her?

"Why are you leaving?" he asked. "You should be happy right now. Everything you've been fighting for years is gone."

She had finally looked up at him and there was almost nothing but black in her eyes. He could see no fear in them, no anger, no passion and no love. They just seemed empty.

"No, Fiyero," she murmured. "Not everything."

Fiyero didn't understand what she meant and because of that he felt so oblivious. Only yesterday he thought everything was so clear, even in the disarray of the world, but now it was like he had been looking at everything wrong all along—that Elphaba, in all of her skepticism, really had the lucid picture of everything and it was only because of some lingering affection that she resisted bursting their ideals. But she had snapped earlier, her façade had broken, and she gave him a hint of the reality he had been too blind to see: that he was an idiot to give up everything for love.

It didn't matter. He wasn't about to let her go without giving all he had one last time. "I'm going with you."

He expected her to get angry at that, to push him away again or berate him for his stupidity, but instead she just sobbed slightly, her dilated eyes glistening as they moved between his own. It made him think for a second that maybe, somehow, he had gotten through to her; that either she would stay with them or she would take his hand and they would leave together, all while loving him wholly like he knew she did. There was hope. Maybe he wasn't a fool after all.

She reached out to touch his chest; his breath caught in anticipation. But then she stopped herself and with a pained expression stepped away.

"No," she whispered. "Not this time. Goodbye, Fiyero."

Two strides later she was off the window ledge and her broom carried her quickly up and away. Fiyero, still dazed, ran to the sill and clung to it, craning his neck around and scanning the sky, but he was too late. She was already gone.

He was too stupefied at that moment to comprehend the implication of that one word. Hell, hours later when he would be lying in bed, struggling to sleep, the way she said "goodbye" would continue to roll around in his head like a haunting lullaby. He would surmise that was the last goodbye she ever meant to say but he would never know for certain. He didn't get a chance to know her well enough to be sure what that tone, what her eyes, what her beautiful face was expressing at that pivotal moment. It would leave him with a terrible and confusing dichotomy of slight, sickening hope and nearly absolute hopelessness. He had spent years hunting her with a similar emotional struggle but this was worse—now he not only had the experience of being unable to find her unless she chose to be found but also the guilt-causing truth that she had nothing left to cause her to expose herself anymore.

The tears clinging to her eyes and way her body moved as it turned away from him would be the last memory he would have of her and he could never accept that.

"Elphaba!" he shouted, his voice lost in the endless air above Oz. He slammed his fists against the ledge and his teeth grinded together as he resisted the urge to cry out in utter distress. He turned his panicked blue eyes to Glinda, whose stillness and simple sadness upset him further. "Follow her! Get her back!"

"Have you _seen_ my bubble move?" Glinda retorted. "What makes you think I could catch her?"

"Where is she going?"

Glinda held up her hands exasperatedly; she knew no more than he did. He growled in frustration – at himself, mostly, that he hadn't stopped her when he had the chance – and ran a hand through his hair.

"What happened with the Wizard, Glinda?" Glinda obviously had information that she used as leverage over the Wizard and whatever it was she was refusing to tell the woman she was asking to be his replacement. His voice was stern as he demanded to know, "What did you do to him? What do you know?"

Her eyes suddenly began welling up and her lip trembled, making him wonder if he had frightened her. But then much to his surprise and dismay she walked forward into his arms. Her silent sobs were shaking her body and he knew this crying fit wasn't one she was putting on for show. Highmuster and Larena watched uselessly –annoyance, anger, sympathy and uncertainty flawing their expressions –as their daughter cried in the welcoming arms of the man who dumped her.

What a complicated family we make, thought Fiyero as he released a frustrated breath and tried to calm himself. He rested his chin against her bejeweled head and rubbed her back soothingly.

"It's okay," he consoled. "Just tell me what happened."

"I don't even know if I should utter it aloud," Glinda mumbled into his shoulder. She pulled away, trepidation filling the entirety of her appearance as she told him, "Elphaba can never know."

Fiyero's throat became tight. He didn't want to tell her that it probably wouldn't matter, that she probably was never going to return to hear whatever it was she had to say. It was if saying it or even thinking it might make it true and the pain was still too raw for him to deal with that yet. "Know what?"

"That the Wizard…" Glinda started. She took a miniscule, timid glance over her shoulder to her parents and to young Dorothy – whose last chance of escaping this world went out the window quite literally, poor kid – before she sucked in an unsteady breath and told him miserably, "The Wizard…is her father."

Fiyero was frozen for a moment, but once her words repeated in his head a few times and he comprehended their heaviness, he felt himself go slack. His hands fell off of Glinda's petite shoulders and he stumbled backward. Glinda just nodded, her lip trembling as she resisted the urge to burst out crying. Admittedly, he felt like crying himself as a rage unlike anything he had felt before filled him. Elphaba had just vanished again, scared of a world full of beauty and life she couldn't comprehend anymore because of someone who, as Glinda claimed, was her father. It was too much to accept.

"Madame Morrible said it was why she was so powerful, because he and her mother weren't from the same world." Glinda's voice became thick. "He's her popsie and he's hurt her so bad! I was so mad that I told him to leave Oz. Fiyero, Elphie can never know! It would kill her if she ever found out." She turned in place and stared at the other inhabitants of the room, pleading with them with everything she had: "No one can ever know."

For the first time since their arrival, the neither of the Uplands had anything to say. Everything they knew about the real Elphaba they learned from this room and it painted a confusing, complicated picture: She was hated by strangers but loved in secret. She put her total trust in their daughter though she acted defensive against everyone else. She passionately hated a man without even knowing she was his— that he had once abandoned her family after creating the gawky, mal-colored being that would never fit in. If Elphaba had known such a fact, her disapproval would be simpler and seemingly petty, but she was apparently ignorant of it. Did they realize the significance of that?

Perhaps, Fiyero thought sadly, they were finally realizing that Elphaba wasn't evil so much as troubled. Fiyero wondered if her sacrifice – the way she left them all so no one else would suffer for her – was the reason Highmuster stopped fighting so forcefully. To Fiyero, that trade-off wasn't worth it.


	22. Chapter 22

**Happy New Year everyone! Hopefully 2012 is treating you better than 2011, and hopefully 2011 was pretty good all-in-all as well. :)**

**This chapter is dedicated to those who wanted to kill me for having Elphaba leap out of a very tall building and fly off with no explanation for her thought process. I had some help from the book in order to get to that dark place that Elphaba's been living, so big Maguire fans might recognize a sentence here and there, including Elphaba's new mantra. **

**Enjoy, if possible.**

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_I am not a slave to my emotions_, Elphaba thought to herself forcefully. _I am not a slave to my emotions._

But she was and she knew it. It was why she began her retreat from the tower, for the heated arguing had left her agitated and wearied long before Glinda's news and appeal. With everyone's eyes on her expectantly, she needed escapism. The pressure was incapacitating, limiting her ability to process and think. It was making it impossible to quell the storm that was building inside her.

She was feet from the open window before Fiyero pulled her back.

"_Everything you've been fighting for years is gone."_

Fiyero's words echoed in her mind, empty and wonderful, and she wished they were true. He saw it simply, as she never could, that if Morrible and the Wizard – the causes of everything – disappeared then she would be cured of all of her distress. But the problem was they were like the trigger of a disease and years later she was still suffering from all of the debilitating side effects. Dorothy and the Uplands were observable symptoms and the ones that couldn't be seen were lingering and exhausting and, as Elphaba saw it, incurable.

But most importantly in that moment, she was still fighting her feelings for Fiyero for the sake of Glinda and herself, just as she had been doing these last few years. Now her struggle was intensified for she had allowed him to make love to her, but other than having memories of his touch nothing else had changed. The ache of reality was even more painful than the passing pangs at Shiz. Then, she had wanted him but wouldn't allow herself to believe she could have him; now, she had him but knew she shouldn't.

There was no way that they could be together that would end well for him. Without her, he could go back to this comfortable life in the city where he and Glinda would be safe and not subjected to her undeniable toxicity anymore. With her, they would struggle every day. She could hardly manage that by herself; how could she allow him to suffer with her? How could a relationship survive that? Choosing to be with her was a mistake she wouldn't allow him to make.

She knew that if she lied and told him she didn't have feelings for him, contradicting what she had already imprudently revealed to him, that he would see right through her and she would risk any advantage she had; he would know that it was all a farce and she was as stupidly in love with him as he clearly was with her. She could not reason with him, for he would change her mind with his cute smile and his kind heart. So she did the worst thing she could think of: she viciously blamed him for things for which she honestly did not hold against him.

If she could go back in time days before to that leaky shack and read any page from the Grimmerie, she would find the Relinquishment spell every time, for she knew that it would be enough to breathe life back into his body. She was ready to die there so he could live. Die she did, but now that she was alive once again she was lost, confused, and unstable, like her new life was an unnatural accident of fate that left her in a world in which she was no longer meant to belong—which, of course, it was. And what was worst: she was drawn to Fiyero more intensely than ever. None of that was his fault, unless she chose to fault him for being too attractive, inside and out.

It was agonizing for her to watch as her harsh words stabbed at him like those Gale Soldier's spears had, as though they also killed him with each one she uttered. But she was sure she had succeeded in setting him free. She could leave Oz or disappear into some inconsequential corner of it and leave him to live a fulfilled life without the burden of his commitment.

But then, despite it all, he stepped forward and wouldn't let her go without him. He was ready to leap out of this tower and give up everything for her once more, even though she had hurt him so deeply. His handsome face was heartrending as he waited for her to accept him again, his wonderful lips were trembling as he sucked in an apprehensive breath at the chance of her touch and his crystalline blue eyes were begging for her acceptance.

That was when she felt herself shatter inside, when all of the built-up emotions from years of unhappiness had begun to rip through the surface and pour out of her like a violently erupting volcano. She wanted to scream at him, to point at Glinda's parents hate to show him that was what lay outside that tower for them and to gesture to Glinda to show what pain they caused if they stayed within it. She couldn't scorn him though, because she needed him and she was selfish enough that for a second she would live with either consequence in order to taste his lips again. With her dependence unbearably palpable, her façade began to fall as she fell even harder for him and she became unquestionably grounded to this world again.

She ran before she made the mistake of touching him. She ran before he could see the truth and tears in her eyes.

She leapt into the sky with a practiced grace and shot upwards, but beyond the first few feet she couldn't will her broom up. Spiraling around the tower, she barely missed Glinda's overhanging patio as she forced her stubborn broom up the last few feet.

She couldn't convince her broom that she wanted to leave because she didn't.

It stopped ascending as the emotions burst inside of her, and she cried out in frustration as she began to plummet down. All she could see was a mass of green before she slammed into it, her bare skin burning as it rubbed against the smooth jeweled surface, gravity wrenching her down the top of the spire. She clutched desperately at it with her toes and the fingers of the hand not tightly gripping to the wooden broom handle, pulling herself up and crawling across the rounded surface until she knew it was flat enough she wouldn't slip off and plunge a thousand feet to her death.

With the last of her strength sapped and the adrenaline leaving every inch of her trembling, she collapsed forward against the emerald and sobbed uncontrollably, her wet face sticking against the stone surface. In all of her experiences in all of the years of distress she had lived, she could not remember ever experiencing anything like this: feeling as though all the organs inside of her chest were missing and all that was left was deep aching and reverberating of her pulsing, pounding heart. She was like a fleshy version of the Tin Man, but she had the one thing he naively wanted. He might envy her for it, but she would give anything for his condition: Having a heart was not worth this pain.

If only she could magic spell her own away.

The simultaneous pain and emptiness within her were worse than anything she had experienced before— and she had always suffered from caring too much. This time was worse; she had been a fool to think that she had actually rid herself of any burdens of love, and now she was suffering the horrible consequences.

She sucked in a snotty breath and wiped angrily at her face, irritated that she felt this way. Getting to her feet, she stumbled a few more steps up the rounded top of the tower until it was flat enough for her to pace it, her dress and hair whipping around her as she and the wind changed directions. With her broom clutched in a death grip in her left hand, she felt no vertigo or fear of heights, especially as she regained some semblance of equilibrium on the slick stone.

Had she not left her glasses behind, she knew she would be able to see the mist of the fading clouds that hovered just feet above her or the way they swirled with the intermittent drafts of air in the gray sky. But her vision was flawed by nature and at the moment blurred by tears so she only felt the frigid gusts hitting her face and freezing the trails left behind on her cheeks. Behind the moisture, her eyes scanned down at the world below her and listened to the faint hustle and bustle of hundreds of thousands of Ozians as they lived their uncomplicated lives.

She exhaled bitterly as she stared down at them, the complexity of her emotions causing a twinge of nausea that she was tempted to dispel on them. But she wouldn't, because despite her resentment she had never learned to stop caring too much.

There was too much to hate in this world, and too much to love.

The entirety of the Emerald City sprawled beneath her feet, spreading far and wide in all directions. The sun was nearing the horizon, casting the metropolis into contrast— green and black, like it was made for her and she for it. She used to think she belonged here, amongst the emerald and the chaos. Back then she had such dreams for the future: She was to be adored, respected, and appreciated at the Wizard's side. Upon meeting, the faceless but impressive man would embrace her fearlessly and would see within her the good and worthiness she alone seemed to realize existed. They would sit down and discuss philosophy and politics and he would _value_ her opinions rather than tolerate them. He would see her for what she was and facilitate the greatness they both knew she could achieve.

She remembered the way he promised her everything she wanted and charmed her when she finally met him; in hindsight, she realized he really _did_ see her for what she was, but instead of building her up, he spotted her weaknesses and tore her down. He condemned her and years later humiliated her by luring her in again by that same fatal flaw: her silly dreams of a better future.

She grew up imagining that she would prove herself to the Wizard, be his charge and live happily ever after. But as soon as those horrid wings began sprouting out of the backs of those poor monkeys, she stopped romanticizing life and began simply trying to survive. Thinking about tomorrow became useless when there were no guarantees that she would last the day. Even as she kissed Fiyero after their escape from the palace she was living in the moment, an idea he embraced. She had no expectations for a future between them—how could she? What future could possibly exist for the Wicked Witch of the West?

She stopped knowing what would come next the moment she and Glinda ran from the Wizard's throne room with the Grimmerie so long ago. If Glinda asked her where she was going, there would be no need for lies because she had not decided, only that Glinda could look westward where the savage lands would protect her from the Wizard.

But now, suddenly, the Wizard was gone. She did not know why. For all she knew it was a trick, a spell cast on Glinda by Madame Morrible to make her finally lower her guard, and she and the Wizard were crouching in their throne room waiting for her to walk with Glinda there. By being Glinda's vizier, as she refused to be for the Wizard, she could finally be in a position to be Morrible's adept, or worse, assassinated on the spot.

But Glinda had asked if Elphaba trusted her and she said yes; these notions all were under the assumption that Glinda's proposition was untrustworthy, by her will or not. It wasn't fair of her to think that way, only precautious. As the old cliché jests, it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you, and she had a lot of experience that caused her to fear for the worst.

Thanks to Glinda, whom she could tell genuinely meant well and was unlikely spellbound, she was being offered the life she had once imagined for herself. But she wasn't that naïve girl anymore. She had long ago stopped being Elphaba Thropp, the girl whose head was in the clouds whenever it wasn't buried in a book. Since that time, virtually every campaign she'd set out for herself ended in failure. She had lost all faith in herself and had only one goal left: Do no more harm. That's all she wanted— to do no harm.

She had spent her whole life up until now putting everything she had into something and failing every time. She failed her sister, Dr. Dillamond and herself. Before long she would fail Glinda and Fiyero too. Glinda's parents already saw that – their instincts immediately put them on guard like a dog anticipating danger – so why didn't they?

Even if Glinda succeeded in changing her parent's minds about her and she was claimed as their kin, the idea of the life of attention and influence was not a pleasurable one anymore but rather a threatening one. She had been an ill fit for the life of diamonds and pearls and light long before her fall from grace and at present, thanks to the Wizard, a single mistake on any of their parts would amount to death for them all. And given her history of misbehavior, it was all too likely.

She had given up everything once following an offer for that life. She wouldn't allow Glinda and Fiyero to do the same.

The best choice she could make was the hardest one: she would take herself out of the equation. She would leave Oz. Maybe she would pass through the encampments of Animals like the one in the Pine Barren on her journey out of Oz. She could collect supplies from them and in turn apologize for her failures. She would tolerate one of the so-called Impassible Great Desert Barriers of Oz and explore the places she had only read about in books. Perhaps, if she went west, she could travel to the Land of Ev, see the underground lands and river within it before entering Rinkitink, a country that bordered the fabled Nonestic Ocean. Or she could reach the ocean by traveling to the lands to the south that the Quadlings used to talk about, like Boboland and The Valley of Mo. If she went east, maybe she could find out if the Isle of Yew truly exists. She could experience the cultures of these lands that were merely mysteries to Ozians. In all of these places, it wouldn't matter what her name was or what she ever looked like. She would be free.

She had made up her mind long before the time the sun vanished behind the horizon. Hours passed as she thought about memories of childhood, Shiz, Nessarose, Glinda and Fiyero, of the Wizard and Morrible, of Ozians and Animals; she thought about potential futures, about those in Oz that might contain a short period happiness before inevitable catastrophe and the less fulfilling ones that existed beyond its borders; and she thought about the state of the world and if there was any redemption for it or for herself. It all reinforced her certainty that she didn't belong here: That despite the color of the Emerald City, she never did.

She shouldn't stay up here much longer. She could feel her head spinning from fatigue. If she passed out, she feared she would either fall or be blown off of the North Tower to be found by Glinda's guards as shattered as her sister had been under Dorothy's farmhouse.

She knew she needed to use her remaining consciousness to make her escape once and for all. The city was nearing silence below her, only liquor-fueled pockets of it rowdy at this time of night, and undoubtedly the Uplands and Dorothy would have been found places to rest by now. Even Glinda and Fiyero were likely to be asleep. But she couldn't bring herself to leave without at least leaving a note farewell and snatching up some essentials, such as the knife Glinda had promised to leave on the dresser for her, warmer clothes including her thick cloak (how she wished she had it now against this bitter, biting cold!) and her mother's bottle. She would sneak in to Glinda's guest quarters and retrieve what she would need, and then she could take off into the night in whatever direction the wind took her fastest, leaving her only friends for good and for the better.

She took a deep breath and leapt off the tower.

_I am not a slave to my emotions._

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**Reviewing might be enough to cause Elphaba to effectively defy gravity once more. Good reviews could even cause her to consider staying. Just sayin'. **_  
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	23. Chapter 23

**I can't believe how long it's been. I'm a terrible author for keeping you all waiting so long! I'm sorry about that. I have a soul-sucking job. That's my excuse. Nevertheless, I haven't forgotten or given up on this story or any of you wonderful readers. I simply struggled more than I expected. Most of this had been written and rewritten multiple times until I could get it right.**

**For all of my reviewers whom I told I would have an update for them a long time ago, I apologize. This update was originally supposed to be three separate ones, all with little cliffhangers. I changed my mind. Hopefully, it was the right choice. **

**I think many of you will like this chapter. The rating is definitely a high-T. With that said, I hope you'll enjoy and please review!**

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The window had been left open.

With her broom clutched tightly between her knees, Elphaba circled the tower a couple of times, weighing the risks one last time before the drifted closer to the sill. She could only presume Fiyero or Glinda had done that purposefully, hoping for her return. She had no intention on lingering longer than necessary, however, and she knew it would disappoint them but she couldn't allow herself to care.

She climbed through the open window and the calmer air on the inside of the large space was only slightly warmer than the frigid wind that crept in. It was dark. The moon, though mostly full, was covered by the lingering, lifeless clouds that seemed to hang in the air just to remind Elphaba of her futility. Still, she remembered the layout of the room enough not to stub her toes or trip as she slowly, slowly moved through it. Her breathing, shortened from shivering, seemed to be the only sound that existed other than the faint echoes of life that barely managed to carry all the way up through the window from the dying city outside, and that fact calmed her and pained her all at once.

But then she heard a new noise. Before she could even think to panic, the sound of another's breathing mingling with her own reminded her of the trance she entered in Levin's home, when Fiyero's heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her own pulse began to race and her instincts told her to back away but something drew her forward, toward what appeared in the darkness to be the four-poster bed. Her eyes continued to adjust in the darkness and soon the moonlight-exposed rippled sheets that were now only inches from her weary eyes faded into pale skin. She was not alone.

She could smell his scent gently hanging in the air, like the warm Vinkun night. She could feel him, as though his presence was making the very cells of her skin try to reach for him, and against her better judgment she moved another step forward until the wooden frame of the bed hit her tender thigh.

She sucked in a breath, the pain in her body more than just physical as she took him in: the beautiful sheets that held her only hours earlier clung around his lower back, leaving nothing about his form below it to the imagination. He had kicked down the thick comforter down past his knees; it was such a human thing, thought Elphaba, one that she hadn't known him to do. He was obviously comfortable in the cold like she had learned to be, for as her eyes travelled toward the head of the bed she saw the exposed skin of his waist spread across his broad, bare back.

Her fingers itched to touch him and as though of their own will they reached out and ghosted over him. She could feel the heat of him, waves of it, and the sensation was drawing her closer than she should dare be. Her fingertips yearned to feel the source but she satisfied the craving by continuing to remember how he felt as her hand hovered over his spine and up one of his strong arms, the end of which disappeared under one of the down pillows. Just hours ago her own head was buried in them and she wondered if Fiyero had thought about that when he plopped face-first into them. She was so distracted, thinking about his strong jaw and cheekbone, she forgot how closely the back of her fingers lingered to him until she felt the ends of a few wayward hairs from his golden head contact them, sending a jolt though her. She pulled her hand away.

Elphaba felt like a fog thinned in her mind even though her body stilled hummed from the closeness to him. She hadn't known he would be here waiting for her but she should have; now it was too late and all she could think about was being in that bed with him, drowning in his scent and disappearing once more into the dreamless sleep she needed so desperately. She couldn't stop remembering what that back really had felt like under her hands as they made love, the taste of his skin, how the heat of him made her feel so safe and alive all at once, and the feeling of him wrapped around her as they both fell asleep.

Elphaba tried to pull herself away from him, but it was if her body knew it was for the last time and resisted, needing him. For the first time the reality of her decision truly hit her—after tonight, she would never see or touch or taste him again. She had consented to loneliness but the life she was choosing for the sake of her friends meant that she would never again feel what it was like to be held like he had held her, to kiss and be kissed and to love and be loved.

He had been attracted to her at her ugliest. He stood up to her at her prickliest. He waited for her at her most independent. He braved her at her most reckless and believed in her at her most feckless. He supported her at her weakest and, most importantly, loved her in spite of everything that was wrong with her.

There would never be another; of this she was certain.

In a few minutes when she would leave, she would continue to live, as would he. The sun would still rise and set any place they would be, their hearts would continue to beat regardless of her pain, and life would continue. But without him, she realized, it would be meaningless and empty. He had changed her. The spell she had cast for him had changed her. And though she planned on escaping Oz and continuing alone as she always had before, she was not that same person and would never be again.

She would regret leaving him for the rest of her miserable life. But, she reasoned as she finally fell away from the bed and toward the large oak desk, regrets were a part of life and she was well-practiced at carrying them. Just because she would wake up every day wondering what her life would have been like had she stayed didn't justify the imprudence of doing so. She had made this decision for Fiyero's and Glinda's sakes, not her own.

Elphaba collapsed into the grand chair and hadn't realized how greatly she was upset until she reached for a pen with trembling fingers. Perhaps it was just fatigue, she realized as gravity's weight grew on her seated form. Her movements were sluggish as she pulled the pen and a piece of loose paper towards her body and tried to focus on her goal: she needed to write goodbye. It was a simple task but as every second ticked by the prospect of forming words became more and more challenging.

What words could suffice? She turned her weary eyes in the direction of the bed. She couldn't see it very well in the darkness. Her love lay there, so peaceful and wonderful. What could she write to him to express her regret and her sincerity? Should she say, vaguely, that she was to leave Oz forever in hopes he wouldn't think to look for her? Could she bring herself to tell him to move on and find happiness elsewhere? And what should she say to Glinda, her first and only true friend?

She pushed the pen tip against the parchment and scratched _"Dear Fiyero" _onto its surface. The movements were familiar but the script itself was rough and unattractive from disuse. At least it was legible, she thought hazily. She sighed and dropped her head onto her arm, wishing the words would write themselves.

Rebelliously, her body loosened slightly, for the knowledge that as long as Fiyero and the world slept she was safe here in this tower. She was invisible, nonexistent even, just another shadow left by the waning moon. She blinked, determined to clear her diming vision, and attempted to remember the last time a haven like this wasn't akin to pen and paper: a luxury, taken for granted. It didn't help that having her lover so close was comforting. His soft, even breathing, perceptible only because of her heightened sense of hearing, was hypnotic. His presence was like a warm blanket, one without holes or dirt or scratchy needles stuck into the woven fabric but rather something soft and thick and freshly laundered, or like warm chamomile from her favorite childhood mug…

Her eyelids became heavier and the difference between the darkness behind them and that of the room became indistinguishable. She no longer felt the pen in her hand and was too drowsy to even comprehend if she had dropped it or if it was still held in her slackening fingers.

She mustn't fall asleep, or else they would find her. She mustn't fall asleep…

Seconds later, Elphaba was dreaming.

Her eyes opened slowly, sleepily, and she recognized the tall, flush trees that guided her eyes to the clear, starry sky high above her. The air was calm and mild and the clearing glowed in the luminance of the mostly full moon. She was obviously back in the forest with Fiyero, wrapped in nothing but her cloak and one of his arms. She sat up slightly, concerned only because she _wasn't_ disoriented or discomforted by this notion. She looked down at him.

He seemed to be stirring from sleep as well, but Elphaba had a moment to take him in. Here in her dreams she felt safe to openly admire him again, from his slightly pouting lips to his beautiful naked body, and a contented sigh escaped her as her hand glided across his strong abdomen. In this dream world, it was unmarred by the wounds the real Fiyero had suffered and she was relieved that here she did not have to face the burden of blame.

His head turned toward her before his eyes even opened, but when they did they bore into her own, dark blue and beautiful. He did not smile but one of his hands reached up to brush one of her rogue locks of hair from her face before it rested against her raven head.

"Is this real?" he asked, and his voice warm and thick like Yunamata honey. She shook her head.

"No, this is a dream," she told him regretfully, her thumb rubbing against the smoothness of his stomach. Her skin may still have been fair here but their bodies were whole as they were when they occupied this spot in reality; she felt no pain, no fatigue. If this weren't proof enough, the silence of this world around them and the way the trees faded into grey oblivion around them was certainly indication enough that they were truly alone again.

Alone. This was reassuring and she started wishing it could last forever, but then the fear that this fantasy would crumble away like the others hit her like a battery rammikin to the gut. It caused her heart to hurt and her body to yearn for him so strongly. Just for this moment, he was absolutely hers. She did not need to hide her love or protect anyone. There was no one to inhibit or judge them. And she was going to take advantage of this illusion as long as it existed for her.

Sending him a wily smile, she dropped her lips to his chest and kissed his skin there, her hands gliding across the golden plane of his abdomen to explore him—to remember him. They were only together a small handful of times but she recalled vividly the spots that made him shudder with pleasure and that was where her fingers itched to go, craving the involuntary flexing that would occur under his skin with even the slightest pressure. He was ticklish, and while other women may have discovered that in his life, it was now her secret.

She found his pulse under his skin and her lips lingered on the spot; when she brought her fingertips up to tease the skin on the sides and back of his neck she thrilled as she felt his heartbeat quicken at every added touch. Hearing the rhythm in his veins brought on a swell of feeling she couldn't contain. She sighed, grateful and content, and breathed out his name in a way that made his hand lace tighter into her wild hair. He was alive and he was hers.

Even though this was a fantasy – and a lovely one at that – part of her still couldn't believe this was happening; that it was Fiyero Tiggular – the boy she had such a crush on in school – whose body she had at her will, whose breath she controlled, whose eyes existed only for her. It made her flush with heat all over and her insides tighten with desire.

She slithered over him, stretching lazily on his body, until the curly blonde hair of his strong legs tickled her feet and their torsos were flush on one another. Her mouth and the end of her nose moved up to tickle the column of his throat and up his chin, and she felt his breath catch as her breasts slid against his chest. The sudden, if slight, movement caused a shock of sensation in the sensitive skin there and she shivered.

The grip of growing pleasure wasn't the only one that clenched at her gut; her underlying anxiety warranted the need to look up at him. His azure eyes looked dark and gray in the pale moonlight as they bore into hers and she found them hard to read. She brushed a hand against his brow as she calmly inspected his features, her thumb dragging slowly across it while her fingertips disappeared into his hairline, admiring the softness and coolness of the locks as she combed them away from his face. He was so beautiful.

Her eyes flickered down to his mouth and it seemed so full and inviting. Dipping down, she brushed her lips on his slowly for a moment, savoring the feeling of him, but she yearned to taste him more fully. Her lips parted to take his, but he wasn't reciprocating, even as her tongue begged for entrance.

"Kiss me," she demanded, her gaze dancing between his eyes, but seeing that he was remaining obstinate she bent down to leave hot kisses across his jaw line and took his earlobe between her teeth. He gasped at this and she teased him further, whispering breathily against the moistened skin, "Please…I need you…"

It thrilled her when her words brought forth a deep, greedy growl from him. He suddenly gripped at her, the hand laced in her hair clenching the roots to jerk her away from his sensitive ear while the other seized her tightly behind the knee. She had only a moment to glimpse the black in his gaze before he brought her down and crashed their lips together, roughly and impatiently kissing her open mouth. She didn't allow herself to catch the breath he stole from her and kissed him back, allowing him to wrench her leg around his waist.

"You need me?" he repeated between hot kisses. The rushing in her mind and his relentless mouth on hers kept her from doing more than whimpering, especially as his fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs, hard enough to bruise, to pull her more firmly against him. "You _need_ me?"

Couldn't he _feel_ how much she desired him? "_Yes…_"

Her body was on fire, tingling with sensation as he sat them upright, his mouth hungrily attacking the skin down her neck and to her heaving chest below. Her nails dug into his scalp reactively as the contact began to nearly be intolerable, thoughts disappearing amidst a frenzy of fervor and something inside of her tightening in anticipation. Fiyero's hot breath against her perspiring skin sent chills throughout her and when his hands moved up to her hips she was certain he was finally both going to feed and relieve her growing ache.

But then he lifted her from him and dumped her abruptly on the ground next to him.

He rolled to his feet without a word and snatched up his pants from the grassy floor. Blood pounded painfully in her ears and filled her face as she stared at him with wide, stunned eyes; he refused to look down at her, instead focusing on buttoning the front of his slacks.

She was trembling as she also stood, clutching her cloak to her chest. Flustered and humiliated, she stammered angrily, "What the hell is your _problem_?"

"You are," he retorted, finally turning to face her. She was frightened to find his gaze colder than the night air against her flush skin. His face, usually so handsome and gentle, was hard as if it had been carved from stone and his hands were clenched so tightly at his sides that the veins and muscles of his arms popped with tension. "Did you already forget how you treated me? How you just _left_ me? I haven't!"

Dizzying memories of every shared touch and glance and word from the last two days replayed in her mind and Elphaba's mouth became dry as she stumbled back a step. Was this her subconscious punishing her for her callousness? Did the man of her dreams now exist to persecute her for the regrets she wanted so desperately to forget in wakefulness?

Arousing her was cruel, yet she needed no epiphany to understand that this echo of Fiyero had only done onto her what she had been doing onto him. She had kept him trapped in a living dichotomy since she had found him again, resurrected but damaged; her façade of bipolarity in the last two days was by far the crueler of the acts as he attempted to heal and cope with his personal trauma.

She wished she could blame her body for her selfish behavior, but just because it existed in a different setting than her mind didn't mean it was a separate, blameworthy entity. And the form in front of her was merely a projection, a manifestation of her latent desires, tempting the very thing she was willing to sacrifice for some greater good she couldn't recall with him standing before her: love.

Her throbbing pulse throughout her body and her burning face overran her thoughts once again and she cared not that he was only an illusion. Her temper flared at the spiteful trick she had just endured.

"It was for your own good!" she snarled through gritted teeth.

"That's not for you to decide!"

"Am I to assume now that you're so adept at decisions?" she asked, adding cruelly, "Because I have yet to be impressed."

"That means nothing coming from you," he snapped. She wasn't sure if she should be impressed by his gall or insulted by his words. Then he exhaled, angrily, revisiting a conversation from long ago. "You really do think I'm stupid, don't you?"

"No, I don't think you're stupid. Just foolishly optimistic."

"Why? Because I want you to stay with me?"

"Yes!" she said. "What do you expect, Fiyero? That we'll get some happily ever after together?"

"Why are you certain that we won't?"

"A witch by any other name still reeks of deceit," she stated. "You're under this assumption that all of Oz can be fooled by this spell I cast and one of Glinda's makeovers, but you saw how her parents acted! What difference did it make?"

"That was only after we told them who you are."

"They didn't trust me before they knew. Moreover, you and Glinda saw through this ruse in mere moments."

He exhaled gruffly, as though he had given up holding back a harsh truth: "That's because she and I are the only ones who ever really looked at you."

She wasn't offended. Perhaps he was right— Boq, someone she had once thought of as something close to a friend, had no notion that the strange woman in the Pine Barren was the very witch who cursed him, but then again he was so self-involved he couldn't see beyond his metal shell. Were other Ozians any different? Were Fiyero and Glinda the only exceptions? It was illogical but her consistently negative experiences with people certainly lacked reason.

Surely out of the few in her life left living, Glinda and Fiyero would be the ones to know her best, but she had known them for only months at best. It was with a sharp pain of longing and shame that she remembered how brief their time together had been. She had only a few short days alone with Fiyero.

"We hardly know each other," she pointed out sadly.

"How else are we going to get to know each other?" he responded, as if it was the most obvious question in the world.

It wasn't the point. This was a commitment, one that she was certain if he were more informed he wouldn't want to make. She faltered from embarrassment, knowing the words she was anxious to confess were coming free from her lips. "What if…you don't like what you learn?"

His expression hardened at the implication. "I may not know your favorite color or constellation, but somehow, I do _know _you. And you know me. Admit it."

"Fiyero, don't you understand?" she asked desperately. "Even if you are right, we could never be together!"

"Glinda—"

"I'm not talking about Glinda! I'm talking about Oz! You were just _engaged_ to her. You _ran off_ with the Wicked Witch. You can't just suddenly be serious with someone new! Unless we left, went somewhere where no one knew your name, we can't have a relationship lest someone guesses the truth because once they do, we are _all_ dead!"

"Then let's leave!"

"Leave _Glinda_?" she asked. "Leave all of the luxuries and comforts you take for granted? I assure you Fiyero, it's not an easy choice to make."

"For me it is."

"You're sweet and naïve."

"Don't patronize me!"

"I don't mean to. I envy you for it."

His face screwed up in confusion and she sighed. Was there any harm in vocalizing her deepest fears if no one truly existed to hear them but herself? This was but a dream after all. "Someday you'll look at me and you'll resent me." He tried interrupting but she continued more forcefully, "You'll realize what a mistake you've made and you'll be miserable. And I fear that when that day comes, you'll be too good of a man to say anything."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it's what you did to Glinda, isn't it?"

He tensed at this truth but brushed it off. "It won't happen, Fae. It's not the same."

"Isn't it? One day, you'll finally see the truth; that, really, truly, I'm just bitter and damaged and difficult. And when that day comes you'll suffer in silence because you've committed yourself and you won't want to hurt me."

"This is different. You're different. I've _never_ felt like this before about anyone, or anything. I can't go back to how I used to be even if I tried. I wouldn't want to."

"But what if you're _wrong_?"

She felt so pathetic as she admitted her fears, even if it was just aloud in her own mind. It wasn't actually Fiyero standing there. But Oz, he seemed so real. His gaze was like dry ice as it burned painfully into her, blistering like the Vinkun sun, and his nostrils flared with every life-sparing breath he took.

"Then I'll tell you."

"I don't believe you."

"I promise, Fae. I don't act with you. I don't think I can. You drive me absolutely crazy in _every _way, but I respect you too much to lie to you about something like that. But it isn't fair to either of us if you wait for that day to come!"

"It doesn't matter anyway," she pointed out, wishing it did. This world – this _Fiyero_ – wasn't real and the promises and assurances he made were nothing more than salve for her pain. "It doesn't change anything."

"What about all those Animals out there who are in need of you? Are you going to forget about those Animals as you intend to do with me?"

Her pounding heart clenched at his question. She wrapped her arms around herself, thinking of all of the creatures that were still suffering because of everything she had failed to accomplish. The pain was almost overwhelming as she admitted, "There's nothing more I can do for them."

"Of course there is. Stay here with us. Help Glinda. She needs you."

"Glinda's smart. She'll be a good leader."

"You and I both know she won't last long. Glinda's great at dealing with things on the surface but she's a disaster when it comes to _real_ things. I don't give her long until she is overrun by someone who won't care as much as we do. How will you feel then? When some greedy politician tramples upon anyone or anything that can't defend itself simply because he _can_?"

She fidgeted at this, wishing it didn't affect her so. It was no longer her concern, she told herself. She planned to escape Oz and whatever was left behind wouldn't matter anymore. But the ghosts of Dr. Dillamond, of Rainer, of Glinda and all the others who believed in her and relied on her would surely haunt her. Could she forget?

"You have the opportunity to _finally_ change things," he continued earnestly. "To accomplish everything you've ever dreamed of. And for once, Oz will be on your side because you'll _be_ Oz. Imagine what someone like you could do with that kind of power."

"Doesn't that make you afraid? I'm…" She faded off, frustrated. "…_wicked._"

"And what do you know of wickedness?" he asked softly, sweetly. It made her heart hurt against her ribs as though it was trying to force itself through them to get to him and she sighed, wanting to find relief from the pain. "No. You're the most selfless person I've ever known. You'd make such good."

It sounded so _wonderful_. Part of her yearned for it, still, as imprudent as it was. The rest of her would forever remain cynical, corrupted by the Wizard and his claims of humble origins and paternal impulses.

"You believe too strenuously in a capacity for good," she told him, adding in a sad murmur, "_So_ foolishly optimistic. I'm sorry, Fiyero. I can't."

"You mean you _won't_."

"I have nothing left to give."

"You're so young, Elphaba. Have you forgotten that?"

She had. Her weariness reached her bones, weakening every tendon and muscle she possessed. No amount of rest could repair the damage. She became unfocused, searching within herself for a youth she had long lost. "I don't feel young."

"I think you feel young," he teased, risking not only a step forward but a hand down her side sensually. She nearly recoiled at the sensation that erupted from every inch of the exposed skin he touched; the cloak that draped down her front became even more tightly clenched in her hands.

He risked a step closer and rested his head against hers; she could feel his roughened knuckles caress her face. A heavy breath fell from him, exposing the seriousness that still existed despite his flirting, and his hand settled low on her back to pull her nearer.

"Just tell me the truth. Do you love me?"

"Yes, but…"

"Stop," he murmured as his blue eyes squeezed shut. "Do you want to be with me? Don't tell me what I want to hear, tell me what _you want_."

His eyes opened again under a worried brow, and as her own locked with his she felt the words slip from her before she even had given them conscious thought: "I want you."

For the first time, he smiled, and though it was sad it made her heart hurt from its beauty. "You mean that?"

"Yes," she said honestly. "I wish I never had to wake up so I could stay here forever with you."

"Me too."

"What else do you want?" she asked, curious what her subconscious would reveal.

"I want to make you happy. When you left with me and I could finally hold you in my arms and call you mine, you smiled and laughed like I had never seen you. I want to spend every day for the rest of my life trying to make your eyes light up like that again."

Was it too late for that? Part of her was surprised that she had ever been capable of such joy then, before she ever knew she was responsible for the death of her sister. How she missed her, missed how things could have been.

"If I had a chance, I would do everything different," she said, her voice thick with grief. "I wouldn't have trusted Morrible and the Wizard. I wouldn't have left Nessarose and my father. I would have graduated from Shiz and gone into nonprofit work or something that didn't involve dodging gunfire and wondering from where my next meal would come."

Thinking about the past made her remember about the young, scandalacious prince she had decided she didn't like before she had even met him. She was so naïve then—she distrusted the only person who would never wrong her and blindly believed in powerful man in Oz without even learning his name. If only she could turn back the time-dragon clock… "I would have danced with you at the Ozdust, Fiyero."

"You told me you don't dance."

"I would have tried," she said, knowing better than to think her younger, more willful self would have accepted the hand of the "silly rich boy". She was such a fool.

"What would you do after we danced at the Ozdust?" Fiyero asked, a smile widening playfully. "Would you let me kiss you?"

"No," she said with a teary laugh, wishing this had been her life. "You would have had to work for that."

"Hopefully something easier than two years in the Gale Force and countless wild goose chases."

His joke did not make her laugh; instead, she felt the weight of her regrets only stronger. "I'm so sorry, my love. I've hurt everything I've ever touched and I've ruined any chance at that happy ending you want for us. It's too late."

"I still disagree." His nose brushed against hers. "You could be my secret."

"And you, mine?" she mocked lightly, her nose scrunching up and pulling away from his at his cutesy move.

He nodded, combing his fingers through her hair. "Just picture yourself at one of Glinda's stupid balls. I'd reach for your hand and spin you out on the dance floor and hold you close, and once the song is over I'll do my best to kiss you. And all of your Animal friends would be there, watching me make a fool of myself." He continued to stare at her, study her, and she realized it odd that for once she wasn't discomfited at his undivided attention. "You have the chance to start over, Elphaba."

"By changing who I am."

"Not who you are," he corrected. "Just people's perception of you."

"I'm scared," she confessed.

He smiled kindly, his hand brushing comfortingly over her hair. "I know, but you're not alone anymore, Elphie."

"I've never had anyone to rely on before."

"Maybe that's been your problem," he suggested. "You've been trying to change the world all by yourself and it's too much. Let me help you. You can trust me_._"

Elphaba doubted whether she could ever fall prey to his confidence, as a voice continued in her head reminding her of the flaws to his ideals and every mistake she ever made, but at the moment she was content to merely take comfort in him. She smiled gently, grateful for him, and stretched up to kiss his lips softly.

She released the cloak she had been clutching so tightly in her hands, letting the last guard down between them, and finally let him pull her close in a consoling hug. She rested her head upon his shoulder, her arms wrapping around his strong torso, and breathed him in, letting the smell of him surround her and soothe her tender heart. Soon she would wake and be forced to accept the consequences of her actions again because despite his contention, nothing changed. She would still have to leave him.

Regardless of the direction she pointed her broom come morning, while she was here she could pretend as though she would follow her aching heart and choose him. She would find contentment in him and hold him tight. His chest was warm and his beating heart was mesmerizing and lulling her once again. Against her will, her eyes fell shut and she told herself she would not return to reality; she would do whatever it took to stay with him. So she focused on the solidness of the muscle against her face and holding tight to his sturdy frame, but it wasn't enough: when her eyes opened, the pressure against her cheek was not that of Fiyero's body but that of hard wood.

She sat up panicked and attempted to focus on her surroundings, but unlike the well-lit clearing of her vision, the shrouded moon's light barely penetrated into the space. Where was she? She put a hand to her face, where it was sore from where it had rested, and found the skin to be cold and clammy; the frigidity solidified her fear that she had indeed returned to the real world of degradation and disownment she dreaded. She was seated stiffly at the desk on which she attempted to write a goodbye to Fiyero, where she had made the mistake of closing her eyes for a moment too long…

A lamp sputtered on behind her and she whirled about, alarm inciting her nerves as she sought out the source. The lamp on the bedside table, though only casting a soft orange glow in the large room, reflected off the eyes of the love of her life as he sat up and stared directly at her.

Fiyero had jerked up out of a short but deep sleep with a knot in his gut and an unexplainable grip of urgency on his heart. He clumsily sought out the knob of the lamp at his bedside, wincing momentarily as the dim light hit his swollen, heavy-lids, but straightened up as its illumination caught on a movement in the night.

It was Elphaba. He stilled instinctually, for he saw her filled with tension like a frightened alley cat, and there they waited – their focus unwavering from one another – for the other to make the first move.

She looked terrible. Even in the faint light he could see the bruising under her eyes, more pronounced than ever, and an unhealthy gauntness in her cheeks that daylight hid. Finally, her eyes darted away from him toward the open window, ending their contest of hesitation and stubbornness, and he also risked a glance away to see an undecipherable sheet of paper under one of her arms.

"That's it?" His face screwed up with irritation as her eyes flickered back to focus on his again. "You're just leaving a note?"

"I'm sorry," she murmured. Her voice was throaty, as though she had also only just awoken, and with a façade of indifference she forcibly pushed her weak body out of the chair and ungracefully made for the ledge.

He didn't hesitate to roll off the tall mattress, even though his body attempted to resist this, and he stumbled after her. She had already grabbed her broom and was part of the way out into the dark when he called after her, "You know I'll come after you."

Elphaba took his bait and hesitated to an uneasy standstill. "You'll never find me."

"It won't stop me from trying. I'll look in every corner of Oz then beyond it until I find you again."

A heavy sigh fell from her lips. With one hand on the window frame and her head and shoulders exposed to the unsympathetic wind, she turned to look at him. Even sickly she was a vision, ethereal and mesmerizing. Her long hair swirled and whipped around her, as wild and gorgeous as she was, and her eyes seemed black and infinite as the starry sky.

What did she ever see in him? She was magnificent, existing beyond him, never to be contained or controlled. He was sad to note that Glinda's request for her to stay in the Palace with them threatened to do just that to her, but in stuffy dresses and tight up-dos rather than chains and rags. Elphaba, with her rebel spirit, would rather endure torture than hours of idle, pointless society chit-chat; perhaps she saw no difference between the two.

As he tossed around in bed last night, all he could think about was his hurt in her leaving how she did. Maybe it was because he had one last chance with her, or maybe something within him changed in the couple hours of rest he managed to get, but he wasn't angry anymore. Nevertheless, his heart remained with her, and his intentions were sincere because, without her, he remained hollow and lost.

He needed to grow up. He needed to be a bigger person than he was. But damn, this was hard. Was the reason she had been vacillating in her behavior because she had been suffering as he was now? Between the inherent need to be selfish and the self-sacrifice required for someone else's wellbeing, or in her case, the greater good?

As much as Fiyero didn't like it, he knew what needed to be said. What needed to be done. He filled his lungs with a huge breath, hoping it would steel his nerves.

"I'm won't stop you anymore. I get that you think that's what you need to do and I know that's why you've been pushing me away. I'll let you leave, just not like this."

The arm that held at the window frame seemed to catch some of her sagging weight as she mulled over his words with eyes clenched closed. Carefully he neared her, approaching her as he had animals he had hunted as a boy in the Vinkus, with silent steps so as not to spook her out into wind and out of his life forever.

"No one is chasing you, Elphie," he said quietly, before remembering his recent promise. "At least not yet. I'll make sure to provide you with a little bit of a head start—give you a sporting chance."

Her countenance changed then as she smiled, clearly unintentionally but oh so beautifully, and looked back up with him with eyes glinting with a mirth he didn't think expect of her. His ribs hummed with the acceleration of his heart at this and he felt himself soften at her, a goofy grin pulling at one side of his mouth. Feeling braver, his bare feet slid forward over the carpet once, twice, and a third time until he was looking down at her. She had fallen back against the tall window casing and peered up at him through those gorgeous, thick lashes of hers.

He could still see the fight within her was far from over, but with this tiny victory he risked reaching forward and cupped her cheek. She turned into his hand and her warm exhale tickled over his wrist, sending shivers down his spine. Her skin was icy, pale but pinched with pink, and her brow was so contorted with quarreling emotions that the veins and muscles under the surface created delicate shadows that caused him angst.

He hadn't meant to screw things up so bad. He hadn't meant to ruin her. She was independent by nature and his inherent need to protect her motivated him to save her from capture from his own soldiers at her dead sister's feet, but in turn it was he who needed to be rescued. The way she had broken into the Wizard's own prison proved that he was dumb to fear that being thrown in a cell would mark the end for Elphaba Thropp, Wicked Witch of the West. Even gravity couldn't hold her down.

"I'm sorry for everything I've done to hurt you," Fiyero told her sadly, watching her eyelids sag heavily as she nestled against his palm.

"Oh Fiyero," she said in a soft sob, shaking her head ever so slightly. "It is I who should be sorry. Look what I've done to you!" Her hands waved fretfully between them before she put them flat against the disfigured skin of his stomach. He hissed and grimaced at the contact, but the lingering soreness as though he had done hundreds of crunches would not undo him, not when it was she whose fingertips danced across the raised, sensitive scars, igniting a fire just beyond the pain. His reaction caused her to yank her hands back with a look of panic, but he grabbed one back, returning it to the crisscross marks with deliberation.

"It's _okay_," he swore, his thumb brushing against her temple in an attempt to soothe her.

"No it's not! Glinda's parents are right; I'm a _menace_, I break everything I touch—"

He knew fighting with her would be futile, but he blamed sleep deprivation for _how_ he chose to shut her up: he leaned forward and kissed her. She whimpered into his mouth but he would not relent; not out of some sort of master plan or obstinacy, of course, but because he needed this, he needed her. And Oz be damned, she kissed him back, her hands spreading out against his belly to his sides, pulling him into her, actually allowing him to physically trap her against the window frame.

He had kissed so many girls in his life – it was easy, required no thought, and was pleasurable – but never before had it felt so intimate or as personal as it did with Elphaba. His heart raced as he tasted her, felt her against him, and, as stupid as it was, felt her _within_ him. He, Lord Fiyero Tiggular, Arjiki Prince of Kiamo Ko, Mightiest Stalker of the Thousand Year Grasslands and Chieftain in the Great Kells, was putty in her hands. Their embrace was warm, tender, and emotional, seeming without end as each kiss led to another and another, each deeper than the last, until they were gasping into each other.

If he was the one to pull away he knew it would have been impossible for him to _not_ utter the words "I love you" and if he did, that moment of weakness might scare her away again, so it was almost a good thing that it was she who finally broke away from him, immediately leaving his lips with a feeling of loss and his heart heavier than Dorothy's farm house. But then she murmured his name, her breath close enough to entice his tongue to seek out hers again, and he kissed her fervently. One of his hands was still laced in her hair the other ran down her side, making a detour over the thin material above her breast as it moved down to her lower back so he could pull her against him and let her feel his desire for her.

Somehow he managed to clear his mind enough to huskily insist, "Stay…" and he leaned inward more to pander to her neck, causing her to quiver and meld against him as he nuzzled the sweet skin near her collarbone.

Even though she had stretched to give him better access, she sighed gloomily. "Fiyero…"

Her tone was disappointing but not unexpected. The prince moved his gaze up to her eyes, which seemed really big as they flitted timidly between his, and waited, able to see the need in her face despite the darkness. This was a two-way street, he was proud to observe. She just needed to give in.

"Stay," he said again, "just for tonight. You're _safe_. You can leave tomorrow. But let me have one last night with you."

His stomach twisted under his aching abdomen as she shook her head silently, her lips thinning and her chin trembling as though she would cry. Immediately grief began to crush him, like rocks cascading on a thin pane of glass, and he felt himself breaking.

This was it. This was the end. He said he'd let her go and he meant it. He just didn't know how he could physically do that without falling apart into a hundred pieces.

Her eyes had begun to glass up with tears. Did it matter that his did too? Was this horrible, private moment relevant in the overall judgment of his manliness? Did he care?

But then her head began to slowly move up and down. "Okay," she whispered, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She seemed to be reacting to his facial expression, for immediately he beamed broadly, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Yeah?" he asked excitedly.

"Yeah," she said, her nodding more perceptible, and he yanked her into a tight hug. Broken laughter escaped from the lungs he was sure had been failing only moments and he felt euphoric.

"Are you crying?" His grip loosened enough for her to reach up to touch the rogue, not-masculine droplet of salty betrayal that slipped down his cheek and his brow furrowed at the implication.

"No!" he tried, but was emotional enough that his voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat, trying to make it sound more like a scoff. "Something…must have flown in my eye. From outside."

"Oh," she said calmly, her head resting against the wood casing behind her as she continued to watch him cleverly, and her gentle smile twitching into a smirk at him.

"Why? Is it a turn-off?"

"On the contrary," she told him, a playful glint entering her deep, sad eyes.

He felt invigorated. "If that's the case, then I was _totally_ crying."

To his delight it was _she_ who then kissed him, rocking up on her toes to do it. He wished he had remembered he was standing right next to a large window hundreds of feet above the ground _before_ he had let her make him so lightheaded.

"Elphie…"

She ignored him in order to nip at his lower lip in a way that was driving all thought from his mind. Sweet mother of Ozma, he was going to die. Die happy, yes, but he was going to die at the bottom of this tower. He couldn't think.

"Anyway we could…" _Oh dear Oz. _"…move away…" Moan. "_…_from the window?"

She cackled at this and pushed him off of her – which was probably a good thing because he couldn't bring himself to do it himself – all the while keeping her hands touching him as she guided him towards the bed.

"You actually think I'd let you fall?"

"It's too late for that," he said smoothly with a wink, loving the exasperation that washed over her.

"Seriously, where do you get these _lines_?" she grumbled as her trembling fingers – aftereffects of her strong emotions she couldn't hide – reached for the tie at his waist as they shuffled backwards through the darkness.

"I swear, they just come to me," he told her with a charming grin. She shook her head at him, her hands struggling with the knotted drawstring as he tugged her the rest of the way. She collided into him as his legs backed into the mattress and Fiyero swooped in time to steal a swear word from her parted lips.

"I love you," he finally murmured between kisses.

She didn't respond but he didn't expect her to; instead, he chose to focus on undoing the seemingly tiny buttons at her back, wanting to rid her of this – in his opinion – far too conservative dress. How on earth had his huge, clumsy fingers managed to fasten these bastards only hours ago? At last she seemed to notice his distraction and growled in annoyance.

"Just rip the damn thing off, Fiyero!" she snapped, shoving him backwards on the bed. He grinned, dragging her up with him, and did as she asked with immeasurable satisfaction.

Elphaba was an enigma, to be sure; a volatile mixture of incredible intelligence and fiery emotions. How he had convinced her to stay, he wasn't sure. But as long as she was here and was his, he wasn't going to waste a moment more worrying or wondering about it. He was simply going to chalk it up to something she had called him in a dream he recently had: he was foolishly optimistic.


	24. Chapter 24

**Delays are to be blamed on HollyBush for inspiring me to start a new Wicked fic that I had planned on waiting to write until after I was done with this one. Details on that will come later ;)**

**This chapter is much shorter than my usual ones, and while it was meant to be combined with the next one it felt right on its own. It's also kind of fluffy, but that's to be expected after how last chapter ended, right? I mean, they were getting some sexy time.**

**Speaking of the last chapter, did no one catch the meaning behind the last line? Really, it doesn't matter, it was just a hint of something that will be revealed in this chapter. Which I will now let you read. Enjoy :)**

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Fiyero did not always share his bed with others. As happy as he was to have Elphaba tucked into his side, somehow sleeping like a baby, he was uncomfortable, afraid to move, and certain the arm on which she was laying was falling asleep more often than he was. Every now and again he'd drift off for a few minutes but then she'd shift slightly and he'd be wide awake again, staring at the ceiling or at her hair or the end of her nose. On top of it all, every time his eyes did flutter shut, the fear that he would wake and she wouldn't be there would nag at him.

All in all, it was a restless night.

Still, he wouldn't have traded it for anything. Their lovemaking was passionate and incredible, yes, but some of the intimacy he loved most was in moments like the ones that followed it, like when Elphaba chose to wrap and tangle herself around his body. She had murmured something about the sound of his heartbeat before she lost consciousness and he loved her even more than he already had for it.

He had been watching the sunrise when she had begun rousing. At first she merely stretched, her long thin body slithering against his side sensually until he felt her toes touch his under the covers. Then a sluggish hand slowly drifted across his bare chest, her palm flush against his skin as it began moving upward this time, sliding and tickling over his collarbone and neck before reaching his jaw, where her fingers slowly skimmed until she settled on the curve of his jaw. Elphaba lifted her head finally and propped her bony chin into his shoulder; her hooded eyes gazed sleepily up at him.

Oz, she looked beautiful, and he couldn't resist reaching through her tousled locks with a genuine smile.

"Good morning," he greeted, his voice a satisfyingly manly purr.

"Hi," she murmured groggily. He could feel her fingertips caressing his cheekbone, his stubble, his ear—her eyes seemed to follow them as she told him, "I dreamt you were a scarecrow."

"Are you glad I'm not?"

She nodded slightly. "Your face was painted burlap and all of your stuffing kept falling out. And even though you had no bone structure to hold you upright you danced anyway."

"Sounds like me," he grinned. She stretched up to him at this and kissed him, her eyes still watching him as her lips lingered on his; he couldn't resist pulling her into him more until he could watch those deep orbs disappear behind her heavy lids. He smiled good-naturedly as their slow kiss concluded. "Tell me more about _Yero the Scarecrow_."

"It's already fading from my mind," she said, shifting so she wasn't trapped so tightly under his him but rather on top of his chest. He wouldn't admit it, but it was a little more comfortable now that he could hold his head up with a lazy arm behind him as he listened to her. "I've had such vivid dreams lately I find it strange to be forgetting one."

"As have I," he said, twirling one of her long, soft locks around a finger before letting it spring loose. He continued to play with her hair as he mused, "Mine were sometimes like this: perfect. It would be just the two of us and I would get to hold you in my arms and you would tell me that you love me and that you wanted to be with me." She blushed at this, suddenly refusing to look at him, and because of that he just had to add, "And you'd be so stubborn, just a pain in the ass." Her gaze flashed up to his then, indignant and fierce, and before she could say anything smart he casually added, "Yeah, just like that."

She exhaled grumpily. "And you call that perfect?"

"Absolutely."

She smirked at him. "Maybe I would prefer you as a scarecrow."

"Would you dance with me if I was?" he asked then, and his sudden intensity caught her off guard.

"What?"

"Never mind. Stupid question."

"No Fiyero, why would you want to know if I'd dance with you?"

They had never danced together before – not during their younger years at Shiz, not in the forests when they were on the run – so perhaps it seemed arbitrary to her. But for him it wasn't.

"Just something in one of my dreams," he explained. "You told me that if you could do it over, you would have danced with me at the Ozdust—"

She suddenly shot off of him then, wrenching the sheet from between their interwoven legs as she pulled away from him, looking as though a bullet had pierced her. "No, that can't be."

He sighed, also sitting up. Her reaction was hurtful. What was so bad about the idea of dancing with him? "Lurine, you could at least play along with the idea. Way to hurt a man's ego."

"It wasn't real. You didn't dream that."

"I did, but if it bothers you that much…"

"No Fiyero," she said forcefully, as though whatever nonsense she was insisting was absolutely important. "Those were _my_ dreams. You couldn't possibly…"

"What in Oz are you talking about?"

"Ever since I cast that spell, almost every time I've closed my eyes I've seen you. And the last time I had said that I should have danced with you at the Ozdust and the first thing you had to ask was whether or not I'd kiss you."

"And you said no," Fiyero said in remembrance, finally starting to catch on. Her hands went to cover her mouth as she stared at him in distress, and the wave of comprehension she must have been dreading hit him. "So wait, we were, what, _sharing_ a dream? How is that even possible?"

She rubbed at her face, finally grabbing at her hair in a way that made her seemed crazed. "It must have been the spell," she moaned miserably. "Oh no, no, no, no, no…"

"You told me you wanted to be with me forever," he repeated, starting to feel a bit angry as the pieces began falling into place. He remembered all the ways she had been pushing him away after helping him escape from the palace prison, even going so far as putting him at fault for everything wrong that had happened to her. Even in their fantasy she had tried to reason with him why she couldn't stay, even though she had made it _exceedingly_ clear she wanted to. He didn't understand. "Did you mean it?"

She was still fisting her hair and the whites of her eyes were beginning to turn pink with stress. She wasn't answering him and he was becoming so sick of this.

"_Did you_?"

"Yes," she whispered. She was the epitome of vulnerability in that moment and his heart went out for her, even as she tried climbing from the bed and said, "I think it's time for me to leave."

He caught her hand and pulled her back. She simply looked up at him tearfully, as though pleading with him to let her go. He wouldn't do so. "Why are you running from me? No matter where you go, no matter what you do, you can't run from me. Whenever you close your eyes I'll be waiting. I'll never give up on you, no matter how angry or frightened or far you are."

"Fiyero—"

"And even though you might have convinced yourself you'll be better off leaving me and Glinda behind, I promise you that time and distance won't help. I went years without you and no matter how much I tried not to, I only ever wanted you more and more."

"Fiyero…"

"And as for your belief that someday I might go absolutely crazy and _not _want to be with you anymore, I can't let you walk away from something this perfect simply just because you think there's a chance it might fail."

"_Fiyero…"_

"And you'll never have to be alone again. Ever."

"Fiyero!"

"What?"

"Don't you let anyone _else_ talk?"

He grinned sheepishly, feeling himself blush at the turn of events after so many years. "Oh, right. Sorry."

Her eyes turn upwards for a moment as she said with exaggerated exasperation, "You're so stupid."

"Foolishly optimistic," he corrected, and it was enough to cause her to eyes to crinkle at him and her lips to upturn of their own accord. As much as he wanted to see that smile, he wanted answers more. "Why couldn't you just tell me the truth? About how you feel, about your fears? Why did you only open up to me when you didn't think I was actually there?"

Her face became hard, like a statue's, as she tried to disguise her insecurities. "I guess I took comfort in thinking that the Fiyero in my head wouldn't run away."

"I'm not going anywhere." He reached up to brush his fingertips down her face, his thumb lingering over her thinned lips. "I meant it when I said I want to make you happy."

"Oh Fiyero," she said. "Don't you see that I'm not deserving of that?"

"Who in Oz could deserve it more?"

"Someone who isn't responsible for so much pain."

"You're _not_ responsible. Morrible and the Wizard are."

"It's unreasonable to blame them for all of my actions and mistakes."

"That's as if saying the gun murdered, rather than the person aiming it."

"So I'm the will-less tool? Nothing but a pawn in their game?"

"Would you prefer me to make some other sort of analogy? Perhaps one that involves an incised snake, held by its head by a greedy and manipulative handler near innocents who are harmed by the creature's spitting venom?"

"So you're saying I'm poisonous?"

He glared at her interpretation and sternly amended, "_Powerful_."

"Cold-blooded?"

"Adaptable."

"Savage?"

"Defiant."

Their gazes remained invariably locked then, each challenging the other on until there would be one true victor, but then she cocked her head inquisitively, a playful glint in her eyes. "Would the snake be green?"

Fiyero couldn't resist a crooked grin at that. "Gorgeously so. It'd be a snake so enchanting its prey wouldn't stand a chance."

"And what would this prey of choice be?"

"Prince, of course," Fiyero said, yanking Elphaba to him so suddenly she actually yelped in surprise and a rare giggle escaped her. He ran his hands slowly across the tight plane of her stomach, around her sides and around her lower back and pulled her snug against him. He breathed in the scent of her neck, enjoying as she shivered at his breath, and pressed his lips against the smooth, creamy surface. "You know, it had been rumored that the Wicked Witch could shed her skin like a snake."

"I'm molting? Oh what a world."

His low chuckle tickled her and when she squirmed he kept her close and pressed their foreheads together. "I'll make you happy, no matter what you wrongly believe you deserve. I promise that I will."

"I know. I am not worthy of you," she said, kissing him deeply, and leaning into him so they fell back together into the plush pillows. It wasn't a promise of anything in return, but it was an acknowledgment of his pledge —it was acceptance. It was gratitude. And for the time being, that was good enough for him.

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**The last third just came out like that. I did not plan it but I could not bring myself to erase it, especially when that absolutely dorky and amazing mockery of Margaret Hamilton's Witch came out. Sorry about that. Plot will resume next chapter, but first I needed to show how much Fiyero's charm and love could pacify our beloved Elphie's inner turmoil. I think he's a good influence for her. But will it be enough to keep her in Oz? Find out next time...**

**Reviews are revered like the Unnamed God.**


	25. Chapter 25

**Hey, everyone. It's been a while, eh? Heh heh. Sorry about that, I genuinely am. Thank you to everyone who voted for this story last year for the Greg Awards; this won Best Angst! I suppose it's only appropriate that I feel angst all this time later for keeping you waiting so long. :) I've missed you all terribly and I'm glad to finally be back again to share this with you.**

**RL has a way of sucking the life out of us, doesn't it? It would either take the fight out of my mind or my heart for a while, so that if I had the ideas in mind I didn't have the energy in me to commit to them, or if I truly felt the desire to write again the words would come out like a ten year old's because my brain wasn't all there. It was one or the other for months now, so that every time I would return to the keyboard to make this chapter happen I'd come out with paragraphs of hooey that I'd end up erasing and starting over. There was no way I'd return after so long with sentences that resembled, "The dog goes woof" when I wanted to express so, so much more.**

**Kudos and blame goes to HollyBush, who both encouraged me to write this and as well as another story I have in the works.**

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Elphaba was a room away from Fiyero and yet she could still feel him.

She could always feel him watching her: as she fell asleep in his arms, as she roused but a couple hours later, as she slowly dressed and as she turned away from him to gaze pensively from the window.

Staring always made her tense and her skin crawl. She loathed it. But this was different. Her skin still reacted, rippling into tiny bumps. Her muscles still involuntarily tightened. Her blood pulsed against the surface, threatening to break through. But no one else but him had ever made such shivers trace the lines of her bones so that even her fingers tingled or caused any kind of reaction within her that left her thirsting for something undrinkable and feverish to her core.

If there was one thing about herself that she would purport absolutely, undeniably: Elphaba Thropp was_ never_ warm. But everything about Fiyero exuded heat, from his body to his deep blue stare, and even halfway across the room from him the transference to herself was tangible.

She was also not someone who was generally self-conscious about her body; years as the Green Girl trained her against such vanity. It was just a casing – of what it held she had never been sure, for the idea of a soul was too great for her atheistic belief system to maintain – made of limbs and organs and a melanin-filled membrane. It was something that needed to be fed and protected, not to mention hidden, given her situation. Most of all it was something to be resented—for its weakness, its vulnerability, and for its _verdigris_.

But dammit if being naked in front of Fiyero wasn't a whole new experience. She regarded herself differently under his scrutiny, as if her id was desperate to see herself as he did, and because of that her naked body had felt even more bare, more detailed, more scrutable. She was thin but what physique she had was at least strong and lean, a result of years of running for miles without stopping and rapidly climbing through tree branches. And her skin – which still held no hint of green returning to its cells, to her relief – was littered with countless scars and impairments that no spell would erase; little ones from thorns and massive ones from the talons of Lions. She had spiraled in these thoughts as she dug through her old school trunk, finding forgotten leggings and a brassiere and finally a dark-blue frock.

She recalled an expression young Galinda often used, about the feeling as though men were undressing her with their eyes, and while she was never in a position back then to relate to such a situation it had made perfect sense, even as she pulled on the undergarments. Fiyero had been lounging back on the pillows, a thin sheet pulled lazily to his navel and his golden hair mussed from lovemaking, gazing at her as if could see beyond her damaged surface to her damaged insides. He remained quiet, which she appreciated, because she felt too much had already been said; she had promised him only a night but admitted to wanting so much more, yet the same tired argument about why she should leave was still valid. The stalemate remained between them, but then again so did that _heat_.

Before long he got up to get dressed himself, disappearing into the lavatory to wash and to give them both space. In a way, she felt like she could finally breathe; it was a familiar sort of oxygen that was laced with loneliness and emptiness, both sustaining yet unfulfilling. It was what surrounded her in her home at Colwen Grounds as she read her books as a child, ignored by her father and sister and the townspeople who all feared her. It followed her in her teens, coating her lungs as her father engaged in his short-lived mission in Quadling Country, when the ostracized and misunderstood Quadlings – who should have accepted her when others wouldn't – saw her as the alarming symbol she was presented as and worse. It existed at Shiz, where her peers mocked and rejected her. Lastly, it was all that sustained her sanity as Oz hunted her for years, for the lonesomeness that would have undone others was all but natural to Elphaba. Solitude meant safety, in so many ways.

The closer people got to gawk or taunt, the more that air she hated but needed was pulled from the world. But her blood flowed better. She yearned for contact, to establish the kind of relationship that made others feel alive. She was pulled to people, to reach out and touch them, invigorated by the rushing of her heart, until the limited air remaining in her body finally dissipated. That's when she'd allow others to chase her away until she could fill her lungs with that emotionally empty oxygen once more.

It didn't make sense, the way she felt when she was with Fiyero and Glinda and she didn't have to share them with the world. The atmosphere would suddenly fill with euphoria and each breath felt pure, pushing her heart even harder and sustaining it longer until eventually her anxiety would return, reminding her of the world outside of the small one she would enclose herself within in their presences. It was that outside world that Elphaba observed from the North Tower, with her glasses perched on her nose, sharpening the edges of every surface to her and revealing the hustle and bustle of a world still reeling from the week's excitement.

She was too. Despite assuring Fiyero that she wouldn't stay past the morning, she was weak from pain and exhaustion— physically, mentally and emotionally. A chair called to her and she fell upon its ornately embroidered surface, unexpectedly sinking into seemingly endless depths of plush. She had found a book in her trunk, long forgotten after she had abandoned it at Shiz, and had it in her hands as she sat, but her attention span was not what it used to be. Every other sentence had to be reread until finally she closed the cover, turning her head against the headrest and staring out of the still-open window, where the radiance from the bright, clear sky glowed brightest and from which the liveliness of the capital below hummed with energy. Absentmindedly, she fingered the paper book cover as she watched birds soar over green spires, wondering as she always did if they were animal or Animal.

She knew he had returned to the room. He didn't need to speak. She felt it in the air, within herself— her skin and her blood and the fluttering feeling in her gut that some associated with butterflies but the jaded woman knew was from a spike in adrenaline.

Not to mention his starched clothing and heavy boots seemed loud over the wavering breeze to her sensitive ears.

Elphaba could feel the brush of his fingertips reach out for the sensitive skin of her wrist, seeking reciprocity so gently she assumed he was afraid of spooking her. She took his hand and laced their fingers together. It wasn't the first time they held hands but for a second she forgot to respond to him as she marveled for the umpteenth time at the interesting mixture of discomfort and perfection of having their joints locked between each other's.

She turned her head to face him. He was at eye level, having knelt down at the side of the chair, and she could smell his fresh aftershave. His hair, a dark gold, was still slightly damp but was combed from his face; if Elphaba looked closely enough she could see the last of his fading contusion just past his hairline. He did not wear his military garb – was his career irrevocably damaged? – but instead donned a handsome dark suit, leaving the top two buttons of his pressed collared shirt informally undone.

He pulled the hand he held to his lips and kissed her knuckles, and she slipped that hand from his to trace his face affectionately. Regardless of everything, she still did not understand his devotion to her and she wondered if she ever would.

"I was afraid you'd be gone," he said, moving his eyes between hers. "I'm glad you're not." His fingers still lingered on her arm. Fiyero continued to inspect her, though she tried not to focus on that, preferring the soft hair around his ear. "You look like you used to. Aside from the skin, that is."

"I think that part is a given."

"You used to sit by the canal and read for what seemed like hours at times, folded up like a jackknife, and every time you'd turn the page or adjust your glasses I'd think that you'd catch me watching."

She swallowed her emotions, the cynical part of her wondering if he was lying but every other part knowing he wasn't. "I never did."

"Glad that my years in fancy clothing hadn't erased my impressive hunting skills," he boasted with an endearing emerging smile, his clever gaze flickering over her. "You know, that dress doesn't fit you like it used to."

Elphaba looked up in surprise at Fiyero's comment. "You remember it?" He nodded, and she peered down at herself. He was right—in her opinion, the fitted frock had seemed too small back at Shiz. "I think it used to be tighter around my chest."

He sniggered, almost boorishly: "Oh, _much_ tighter."

She thought she had felt warm before, but now her face burned. She tried to recall the time in her life she would have worn this, and all of the memories that came to mind were of stolen glances at him with Galinda. "I never thought you noticed me…like that."

The grin he wore at this was lopsided, with just a hint of his beautiful teeth to entice her, and she would have called it boyish if his eyes weren't undressing her again, this time in the more amorous fashion. Shouldn't this offend her, as it did Galinda? Why was it invigorating?

"I noticed. And I fantasized. A lot."

Her heart fluttered then; she was little better than those giggly girls back at Shiz for being affected like this, but how many times did she yearn to be like them, against her better judgment? She had never let herself indulge in fantasies at Shiz, claiming they were forays in the Land of What Might Have Been. But, as imperfect as it has been, she was able to experience the real thing. Even if just for a moment.

A moment. It was all they would allow themselves to have. But every article of clothing Elphaba had found to wear from her trunk – a pair of worn, ankle-high leather boots, a hand-knit gray sweater, an old ivory hair clip that was once Nessarose's that held back the top half of her thick hair – acted as a countdown to reality.

In all of her years, in all of her regrettable decisions, she never doubted herself this much. The air was so clean and crisp outside as the last of the storm clouds faded away above the distant purple Kells and it should have been beckoning to her, but she couldn't muster the strength to rise from the chair.

"Tell me what to do, Fiyero," she murmured, hating how weak she was. A gust of air from outside hit her and removed her hand from him to wrap her arms around herself, holding shivers at bay; she blamed that wind as her eyes stung and she looked away from him so he couldn't see them glass up. She set him up, knowing what he'd say: he'd tell her to stay and he'd tell her everything a storybook prince should say, because he was amazing and cheesy like that. Except he didn't say those things.

"You start with something small," he told her, and took the sweater she had laid across her lap to wrap it around her shoulders like a cloak. "Like not freezing to death."

She laughed, mostly humorlessly, and slid into the sleeves like he wanted. His large hands ran over the unevenly woven material atop her arms, and she wrapped the sweater around herself more closely. In the years on the run, when her everyday life became wild and unpredictable, sometimes she dreamt of the mundane with incredible longing, of things like this drab garment that her mother knitted two decades or more ago. When she was young, she would drown herself in it and focus on every skipped stitch and mistake, remembering every characteristic about its creator – Elphaba remembered her as giddy, alcoholic, imaginative, uncertain, desperate, brave, stubborn and supportive – while wondering which of those traits she had inherited and which she wished she had. When she no longer had the sweater, when all she owned was one dress and a thin cloak, her daydreams were less metaphorical and more practical.

"That logic seems vaguely familiar," she quipped, already relaxing from warmth and his caresses.

"How are you going to survive without me to remind you to wear your sweater?" he asked, and though he was joking his soft smile fell at his own implication that she would soon be gone. The gentle stroking on her arms slowed and in that moment he forced eye contact too intense for her to stomach. "How am I going to survive without you?"

"However you did before."

"I didn't. That wasn't living. Not until I found you, and then—"

And then everything went to hell. He stopped himself, but whether he held back for her sake or his she didn't know. She had caused so much harm to him, to Glinda, to Nessa, to Oz—everything she loved. _Do no more harm_, she reminded herself. It was all she held herself to do anymore.

There was nothing more to say that hadn't already been said, and she was grateful he understood that enough to change the subject. "Glinda should be having breakfast now. She would want to see you, before…" He took a deep, unsteady breath. "Sorry. Let's just go."

She was relieved when helped her out of the yielding chair, for she knew she wouldn't have been able to manage it herself in her state; she told herself it was why she didn't escape before, regardless of its truth. Still, dependency was never her forte, and so she dropped his hand upon standing and smoothed down her skirt, watching as Fiyero nodded to the door.

"Brunch is in the gardens this morning. Glinda arranged it to appease her parents after you took off last night."

There was much appeasing to be done. She tried not to dwell on all the damage she had done but deterring obsessive thoughts was not a skill she acquired in her lonely life. Poor Glinda, with her heart of crystal, was left to clean up her messes these last few days and continued to perform for them all as if that fragile organ didn't fracture with every beat, like it hadn't been Elphaba who broke it to begin with. She had always broken everything she touched. Even Fiyero, whose nearly flawless face disguised a flawed man – the most prominent flaw being his devotion to her, the fool – hid the damage she had caused behind a button-up shirt and a careful grin.

"It's private, I promise. You'll be safe until you…"

She had never seen him like this, trailing off with every statement. She had never seen him so unconfident and disheartened. She tried not to feel guilty but asking herself not to feel was like asking Glinda not to flounce.

And though he offered her his hand once again, she refused it, a grip of regret holding her heart, and chose to limp beside him then later lag behind as they made their way down the intimidatingly steep, winding staircase. She let her fingers skim the smooth emerald paint, needing the solid security the stone offered as her body enfeebled with each downward footfall and her mind became foggy with memories and grave thoughts.

She wasn't ready to talk about it; she reckoned she never would be, but how badly missed her sister! The last moments with Nessarose were so turbulent and Elphaba would live with that regret for whatever was left of her existence. She knew what a bullet felt like and every time a wandering memory of the best of Nessarose crossed her mind it was as if she was hit again and again with a slug to the chest and another to the stomach. She remembered her grace most of all, for it was a quality that Elphaba lacked so distinctly and spent far too much time envying rather than emulating. The world could argue endlessly of her corruption, but the sweet, sweet, gentle smile that Nessarose always wore would be what Elphaba would keep in her mind, how she would bow her head in reverence and be still and silent in a way Elphaba never could.

It should have been Elphaba who died. She had meant for it. Yet she lived, lived in pain and shame and unable to make amends for all her misdoings. At first she wasn't sure if the aching of her injured leg as she limped slowly down the stairs could ever compare to what grew inside of her, the result of her perpetual neuroses, but before long it overshadowed it. She wouldn't let it show to Fiyero, even though she drifted closer and closer to the side with every step.

He was so merciful, quietly and carefully leading her down this impossible stairway with a palpable adoration. It was so obvious that she was everything to him, though she couldn't possibly comprehend how. He spent years carrying her in his imagination as an idol, some sort of fantastical, ideal version of her that she could never live up to, yet here he was, giving up the entire world for her, hoping she could do the same for him.

But she couldn't. She could hide away in his arms but even with the strength they had they could not keep reality at bay for long. Fiyero wanted her pretend like she hadn't been destroyed by a fraud who offered her familial love and support as she always imagined only to rip it away with vengeance the second things diverted from plan; to accept _his_ love as some sort of filler for everything else she had lost. Yes, his kisses lightened her heart, but there was a weight there that he alone could never remove.

There were those in life who could define themselves by their relationships and find contentment in just them. Fiyero, perhaps, was one of those people. It was why he promised to follow her through Oz and beyond, with or without her blessing. She was all he cared about. But she wasn't like that; she wasn't that girl. He alone wasn't enough for her. She could not define herself by him, and what was worse was she had no definition anymore. She didn't even have a name to give to people, nor even some forbidding epithet to blanket her path like a shadow.

Her instincts had been telling her to cower for days, contradicting her very nature in a way that left her so confused. She may have spent her life in fear of the powers she had inside, with self-resentment and with misguided delusions of grandeur, but at least she braved the world and never gave up. But that was Elphaba Thropp, some past version of herself that did more harm than good. Maybe this timidity, this need for escape, was the proper response for once. It was the only one she hadn't yet tried.

The sudden lurch of her body as Elphaba's injured leg collapsed under her pulled her from her consuming thoughts and she only just grabbed the railing at her side. Fiyero called her name and suddenly all she felt was his smothering presence and the wall surrounding her; in a moment of discomposure she turned into the wall, allowing the stone to cool the heated skin of her face.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she murmured, as much to herself as to Fiyero. "I don't need help."

Lying out loud only helped so much. The pretense was more salvation, for as long as she acted as though her spirit and very physicality weren't deteriorating as quickly as they were, she could survive. That's always how it had been. She acted as though the pangs of loneliness and starvation in the last few months never harmed her, even pretending as though she relished the isolation and disappointment in the world at large. But, she considered again, what good had these instincts done for her, save for keep her alive to feel such misery?

It was Fiyero who suggested that perhaps relying on someone else could make the difference. She didn't know how to do that. It seemed so silly to find such challenge in something so normal for others, but she had apparently been independent from birth, squirming fitfully in the arms of those who loathed to hold her and refusing the teat. When the time came that she had to choose to live detachedly from the world versus serving as a pawn to a conniving dictator, the choice had been easy. She had decided that the burgeoning attachments in her life were oppressive and swallowed that pill down with her head held high in defiance.

It was a hard life to be alone, but at least for the longest time no one was hurt by her. Nessarose said their father died of a broken heart but the man never loved her; that was just Nessa's way of guilting her as she was apt to do. She struggled without her sister to wait on her hand-and-crippled-foot and was bitter for it but she managed well without Elphaba, if too well. Glinda rose to second-in-command in Oz and Fiyero Captain of the Guard. They had all managed to live successfully on their own from her and could do so again once she left them. But if she stayed, she risked witnessing it all fall apart again.

_Do no more harm._

She pushed away from the emerald stone, the mantra echoing in her head, and she took the next few stairs down with fresh determination.

They did not talk. Elphaba, even as someone who reveled in silence, could admit that the lack of words in the winding, echoing passage was unbearably tense and only grew more so the longer it existed. She tried not to focus on that; she tried making it down one more step without falling, she tried reminding herself why each step downward and away from the safety of this tower was for the best. He was best off this way, and so was Glinda. And as for her, in the long run she would be better too. She would liberate herself from the chains of her past as she had once before and bask in her freedom, wherever she could find it. She just didn't know how it could be here.

They could have their dreams together, wherever they were, providing she could sleep and wish. She didn't know if the magic bond between them was permanent, but if it was, she would never truly be alone as long as she would close her eyes at night and still yearn for him. But this was a selfish, half-hearted notion, for though it may satiate her longing for a while, before long seeing him only in dreams would be like a drink that could never the burn of thirst or an itch that could never be reached. It was an empty substitute for the real man, who would be trapped to love her in his slumber only, left with his apparent fierce longing gnawing at him in every waking hour.

She could deal with that agony. Those gnawing sorrows were practically her friends these last years. She wasn't sure how much Fiyero could withstand, though he swore he had lived these last few years just as wanting. Elphaba wouldn't look at him as she pondered this; he was more sensitive than he let on. She would know the answer to her unspoken question, that he would be torn apart by vacuum she'd leave, and she didn't need to see his face to be certain.

But it was for the best, wasn't it?

Every time her mind made an argument to leave Oz behind her heart came in and swept the argument away, like a strong wind picking up flurries of snow before they could stick. She had never been so at odds with herself before; when she had defied the Wizard, her heart was most prominent in its disobedience but her mind was not far behind. But now, she was left with the coldness and emptiness the flurries left in its wake, confused and irresolute in a way that the Wicked Witch of the West should never be. She did not require of herself a consensus of mentality and heart, but she knew not what to do with such discord inside of her.

She stumbled, expecting another step that did not come.

They had reached the bottom.

The landing was rich in green and white light streaming from the stained windows. The walls were green, the door was green, the tile underfoot was green. Even Fiyero was green in the glow, his features cast with shades of emerald, his blue eyes seagreen in the colored beams of sunlight that shattered the shadows.

He was so beautiful it broke her heart. She wondered vaguely if he was born green if the world would still worship him and she knew it to be wholeheartedly true. She couldn't envy him for it, only love him more.

There was so much to love. And it was because of that love that she felt wrung, ridden with self-hatred— for how could she love him and put him in peril?

She was a plague; she lay waste to everything she touched.

She caught the sob in her throat before it escaped, swallowing it down with her pain, and weakly fell against him, her head falling against his shoulder. He seemed shocked at first, but after a moment his strong arms found her and wrapped her strongly to him. Elphaba feared for his injuries, but he seemed to care not, for as she resisted, fearing for the scars and bruises hiding under the buttons of his ironed shirt, he just held her tighter. Stubborn man, she thought tenderly, accepting his undeserved love and clinging to him just as desperately.

"Why is it that every moment with you feels like it's the last one?" Fiyero asked, his tone warm yet still melancholy.

"Any moment likely is."

"I'm holding out for the time when it's not," he said, as though thoughtfully. "I want to know what forever feels like. The good kind of forever, not the 'We can never see each other again' kind of forever you wicked witches love to throw out and about." This time the sob slipped forth in place of the laugh he brought about, and without that ball of emotion caught in her chest she had nothing to cork the aching there. Perhaps she could have laughed had the mockery had not been pointing out such a truth – she could not protect him from herself, from the horrors of the world that came with her like some parasite – or had he not kept speaking such wonderful, impossible ideas. "I just want regular 'wake up next to you when I'm 80 and ugly' forever. And yes, ridiculous as it sounds, I _will _get ugly one day, long in the future, for men get just as saggy and wrinkly as women—"

And her voice, broken and inarticulate, resounded into his shoulder as she snorted and cried all at once, for she knew so deeply then that she wanted that kind of forever too; she wished so desperately to know Fiyero at his oldest and wisest, to be able to still hold him and think of him as hers. Yet that voice inside of her, that soberness laced in crazed desperation, reminded her of his bloodied body on that cross in that cornfield and of that spear in his stomach, that moment of blankness as life fled his pale and broken face. That youthful face, free of the age he joked about so lightly.

"This is goodbye, isn't it?" he said then, his hand coming up to cup her head, to stroke her hair caringly. "This can't be goodbye. You can't let the last thing I say to you be about droopy geezers."

And this time she did laugh and she did weep, for though he would be justified in being petty and bitter – she imagined other men in his position could spit out "Thanks for the sex" for a better reaction – he took this opportunity to buoy her, her heart swelling enough to keep her from drowning further into her despair.

"Elphaba?" Fiyero questioned, no doubt confused by her state, in which she hovered somewhere between truly happy and undeniably miserable. He dipped down his head as if to see her, and tried again, "Elphaba…"

_Elphaba Thropp is dead_, Glinda's voice resounded in her ear. She cried just a little bit harder not knowing why, and his hand moved soothingly at her back.

"Fae," he whispered then, and she turned her face into his neck, breathing him in, the heat of his neck burning against the tip of her nose. _Fae_ was no one, she never really existed, except to those who never existed either. Until he came along. "You haven't said a word. I don't know what to do if you're not talking. Say _something_, please."

Unwillingly she untucked herself from the refuge of his collar, dragging a hand across her face to erase the moisture slipping down her cheeks, and found sanctuary again in those luminous aqua eyes.

And though she meant to apologize, to say goodbye, what she said instead was, "I love you, I love you so much," and sprung herself up onto him to crash her lips against his, kissing him with a need so deep that she couldn't locate from where it stemmed. The kiss became passionate, hot, like many they had before, but somehow it was different, for what fed the kiss wasn't a just a hunger to be sated. Every whimper stolen from her held the honesties she could not put words to, every moan swept up by his tongue was a farewell she wouldn't say, and every gasp of air they shared diffused into the caverns of the hollowness inside. It had nothing to do with sex, no—it was a passion of a different nature, a fire that had always coincided with their lovemaking but somehow still burned for him when she was wholly spent and defeated and alone, and she knew it was absolutely, tremendously true: she _loved_ him.

Her broom wasn't going to fly for her, not if it meant away from him. She was convinced of this now. And the fear she felt at that fueled her urgency and she kissed him that much harder, letting that love overwhelm the cyclone of emotions if just for a moment before they broke apart, needing oxygen and needing comfort. Breathing hard, Elphaba dropped back against his chest once again and hugged him tightly, allowing Fiyero to support her as she teetered unbalanced – she wouldn't make it too far by the strength of her weary, damaged leg either – the hand not supporting her caressing her hair and arm and rubbing soothing circles over her spine.

And how long they remained clutching at each other, faces buried into neck and hair, she wasn't sure; but all the while she couldn't say goodbye because she didn't know if that's what it really was.

_She didn't know._

* * *

**Elphaba is just a clock-tick away now from returning to the wonder and verdigris of the Emerald City, where life is faster and dangers are nearer, and the pace of this story shall be in accordance. It was important for me to take this chapter to really relay how sapped and ill at ease Elphie is with herself and with the world because the splendor of the City will be tainted by how jaded she has become.**

**Ironic green pun intended.**

**Thank you everyone who is still hanging in with me! Please take a second to review, even just to say hi, and tell me what you think :)**


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